My Nightmare, Your Experience

“Drowning is an art of living,” the words in Daisy’s poem kept on swinging like a pendulum in my heart; it’s oscillation not seeming to stop. Does Thor continue to live? The cat had drowned the previous day in a well, the next day the water was used to water and give life to a dying plant. It was an ironical epiphany understanding how water worked. I read from Daisy’s poems again, “Yesterday we fought fire with water, today the flood is swallowing our children…” My grief had given way to understanding.

Though my mother was not really fond of cats, she knew I loved Thor, hence she did not know how to tell me that my cat had drowned. She just screamed my name. I was wondering what I did when I came outside, any time she called me like that I had done something wrong. But on reaching there, I saw her eyes glistening with compassion for me, something was wrong. She beckoned me with her hands “I found him like this” she said. I rushed into the well without having second thoughts, “Be careful,” she screamed. I lifted him up out of the well and dropped him on the ground. I was crying already.

For two days I had not the appetite to eat, I had fallen sick. Grief was bad enough but mixed with malaria it became poison. There was no cat to stroke, and my bed felt a lot more bigger. Poems I had read without meaning suddenly became clearer to me. And I knew too that grief is love with no where to go.

Younglan Louis

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