On the Way to the Bardo

Lying upon stretcher, as if in deep sleep, my aunt was brought down from her third-floor quarantine to hospital basement. The sight hit the heart-strings like a shooting stone from a slingshot.

She was lifted on to a truck. Mourners sat around her. I desperately wanted to prevent the sun from scorching her countenance. During hour-long journey home, I kept standing against the sun, my shadow projecting onto her.

She responded; by delaying her voyage across the void to the bardo. Next few days, her soul clung to me wherever I went like the wind we feel but cannot see.

First published in f3

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