... life and death and life

Again after a terrible gap I have stumbled upon my own blog. My father is slowly ticking away to the depths of oblivion and his anguish, talking to the silence of the world. Life is so mysterious that much of its content has no definite answer. Struck with dementia, he plays with a few broken words in his own land, where we are trespassers, and as we all know, trespassers are always prosecuted. A few wounds, frowning to be bedsores, are billing his life.


Our evenings roll away stripping and cleaning him, helping him say something so that his tongue may move. Yesterday, I grabbed my parents in a frame. My mother, just assisting my father urinate, sits fagged-out in front of the TV. The TV set sweeps serials after serials, however, she hardly notices any sweep in her four-walled life. No word is enough for my mother, who has been involved helping her husband recuperate for the last couple of years, while she knows, dreadfully knows and helplessly admits that sunset has already kissed my father's forehead. It is the dark hours bordering on the time of twilight. Here goes a bow to my beautiful parents, their life and relationship.
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