by Arpita Das
(Jabalpur, M.P, India.)
"I am not ten!"
I thought to myself.
As she softly patted my back.
'It is OK."
Of course it wasn't.
But shutting down my sarcastic snort,
she kept repeating herself.
"It is OK."
"Everything is fine."
"You will be all right."
Over and over.
Like a stuck record.
Hollow words. Empty words.
Soothing words. Warm words.
Slowly I felt my consciousness going under, falling victim to the spell called sleep.
Breaths became deeper,
Eyelashes lost their fight and stilled,
Like the wings of a butterfly that has forgotten to flutter.
Standing on the edge.
I felt her touch.
A warm gentle brush over my forehead,
that pushed me, effortlessly, into the abyss of dreams.
And I fell unafraid,
as the hum of her lullaby,
sung softly under her breath,
wrapped me in its cocoon of security.
A truth I had always known I realised again.
It was all right.
I was OK.
As long as I had her,
I was going to be fine...
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