കർണ്ണന്റെ രാഷ്ട്രീയം

MY THREE DEATHS

 I don't clearly remember
The first time I died.
It was in April, I think - sunny and warm.
My legs hung from the ceiling, trembling like branches,
The air was hot,
Yet my body shivered
As if caught in a winter's eve.

Then there was the second time.
I died in a spring near the hill.
I can still recall the rotten smell.
The water was so kind, She scattered tiny flowers across what remained.

And the last time, well...
It was today.
In the corner of my bed, A book cradled in my hands.
The story blurred with my blood.
It wasn't a violent death, no!
Just quiet, like closing a book.

Tell me...
Have you ever died this way?
A little at a time, With the seasons, With the rivers,
with the stories left unread?