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ISSN: 0974-892X


January, 2013



Vinita Agrawal

Stone Bubbles

On aunt Jaya's sixtieth birthday,
her nine-year old grandson 
brought her a game of Bubble Mania.

Now that you have nothing to do,
No one to look after,
No one to chat with,
You can play this game
He said.
It will make you happy.

Just remember, he puffed, 
Stone bubbles can't be dropped or popped
They stay in place forever.
It's the rule of the game.

She nodded and hugged him.
Cried after he left. Then she wrote me a letter.
Time was like a frozen giant wheel
and she felt as if she was on its lowest rung, she penned.

We are loved
only as long as we are needed, she added,
At the lowest rung, stone bubbles of loneliness
gather and stay lodged in the heart
like marbles crammed in a glass jar.

Life takes care of itself.
It's  the moments we have to outlive 
pebble  by pebble 
stone by stone, breath by breath.
And when the game of live is over
the stone bubbles also drop.

I tucked away her letter in the folds of my heart.