Acrid smoke, acid sky
Tears of blood, a string of lies
Trembling,
Found her way in.
An empty shell, broken.
Into the abyss, she went
And cried.
For a love that was never hers
She died.
Although written much before her death, this poem is dedicated to Viveka Babaji. I was no fan of her, nor do I support the very idea of suicide. It's just stupid. But having been close to the edge myself, I know just how shattered a person must be to harbour such thoughts leave alone taking the plunge. May whatever it was that drove her so leave her side in the afterworld.
Edit: And this, incidentally is also my 100th post. Congrats! To me, you, my dear blog, the neighbour's dog. Ok maybe we can do without the last one.
(Photo: Taken on my last trip to Rajasthan)
