The Last Question

She sat alone

In a quiet corner

Pensiveness writ all over her face

Her thoughts seemed lost in time

While her gaze held mine

With

A sense of loss

A lack of belonging

Unsure hesitation

Unwarranted trepidation

Humanity

I stood still

Let the breeze move me

And looking around I found

We were alone in the park

Save

The park bench

A few trees

A bird or two

Unknowingly I found myself

Sitting beside her on the

Bench

Even if I had known her

She would still a stranger be

For her self was lost

Somewhere between lifelessness and

Death

I tried to speak

But she was deaf

Even to her sobbing

Tears

So I sat there

Mute to her tears

But not to the tear drops

And they formed a quiet puddle

And kissed my hands

On the

Park bench

I did manage to save a tear

For all that remained

Was her fleeting apparition

As she disappeared into

The quiet

Evenfall

But she left behind

A note

Upon a crumbled slip

Of paper

Which I now reproduce by

Rote

“Why does he say he loves me

And lets me leave him thus

Why the craving of the morrow

When forever we can be us”

The fragile paper

Blew off into the darkness

And I was left

With nothing but

A moonless

Night.

Vikram C

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