The 53rd death.
[Text by Apoorva Wadhwa; photo by Mrinal Verma]
As I trace her bildungsroman,
I realize she was ambrosia.
She was a plot without a resolution,
A dream with colours incomprehensible.
She sent love letters to herself,
She loved words more than herself.
Her favourite place was everywhere,
Her favourite hobby to smile.
She often set out by herself, waiting for epiphanies;
Like a poetry in search of paradoxical allegories.
For most of her life, she sat reading books.
Or at her typewriter, punching until her fingers turned blue.
She stared at the globe,
And went places.
As she lies there peaceful,
She is content at her next destination.
Our Self-Written Obituaries invites people to write their obituary in 200 words. The idea is to share with the world how you will like to be remembered after you are gone. (May you live a long life, of course!) Please mail me your self-obit at email@example.com.