To my late mom,
I don’t know when was the last time I ate something delicious, something that was homemade, something that had the flavor of mother’s love. I don’t remember when I last walked on to the fields with that open air and endless skies accompnaying me, neither asking me nor telling me anything yet talking with me silently. I have forgotten the exact day, date or year since I’ve been here. I’ve watched my mates grow and I’ve seen myself grow, getting faded and weak and frail. My voice getting shallow and shrill as if the sound dosen’t come with speech. I’ve learned to be a lunatic but I’ve ceased to be me. I’ve bruises at my back and at my hairy chest. I’ve learnt to resist them. I’ve learnt to control my anger and the complimentary tears that come along because today its not a new thing for me. I’ve seen the waves getting high and low through my window. Now I’ve a blurred view of it due to a squint in my eye. My grey beard tells me that “old man, you’re going to be here till your last breath” and I..I silently agree with the deep setting monotony. I say” I don’t care now but I do have a hope, hope of a last breath to come invitingly and excitingly setting me free.”My case is not with the court, its with the god, the case of autonomy and he is going to grant me with the blessing of autonomy. I wish he gives it to me soon. I’ve no one coming to meet me now, so I wish to meet the god. I wish to see you mom.
Your imprisoned son,