Over the years, I wept and slept

It was

A day of apocalypse.. 

A day of war and fire.. 

A day of witnessing death and dust.. 

None around, but my mom and sister fighting the fire at home.. 

The towers around collapsed as we ran around..

Nothing can be heard.. Nothing can be seen.. 

Smoke and Sweat layered thick on my forehead. 

Empty hands shivered with the weight of my helplessness.

My heart quivered and was full of restlessness.

I know I couldn’t stop the fire.. I know I couldn’t save anyone, not even myself. 

The air turned salt and red. And I could feel my lips and head. 

I held my mother's hands. I couldn’t look into her eyes, unable to give her hope for a better life.

I wish I could lift her up and run until the end of the war, to the end of the road, to the end of humanity.

How could I see hope when all I saw around me was death, not a single living soul?

I wanted to tell her the truth, a secret I had kept hidden.

For years and years.. 

It was something I had concealed beneath my words, disguising it every time we spoke on the phone.

I had mustered all my strength to smile when I was around her, pretending to be happy when I wasn't.

I hope I can now admit that and finally let that out. 

My mouth quivered to say those words but gained the strength to open my mouth. 

To say,

“Nenu inni rojulu Happy ga lenu Mummy, niku abaddam cheppanu”

A sudden bloom. Everything around me exploded. All I could see were the highlights that my eyes couldn’t comprehend.

I didn't hear my sister. I didn't hear my mother. No cries. It was the sound of the burning gases, raging yellow clouds, the sound of the universe, a sound I had never heard so close in my life.

I couldn't say whether I was part of the flame or just witnessing it around. I couldn’t feel the sensation.

I wish I could see my mother's reaction to my words. I wish I could hug her one last time. I wish she had heard my disguised truth.

The dream strangled me to death. I, with a dried tongue and the darkness in my room, both woke up. 

Woke up to an empty room, the only sound coming from a table fan humming away on a silent winter night.

For a second, I wished I could call her and hear her voice answering my phone call in her familiar accent, “em Nanna, inka padukoleda."

I wished I could witness her presence at the very moment, instead of just hallucinating the scene.

I called her mobile number, hoping someone would pick up as usual. But no one did. The call didn't connect, as the number was no longer in use.

I recharged the phone to keep it alive, with a hope that someday, somehow, she would answer my call.

The dream repeated itself in different patterns every day but with a similar voice behind it.

For many days, months, and 

Over the years, I wept and slept, only to repeat the cycle, over and over.