Prabhat Shukla

  O God , I carry a single flame— a wish that she might choose my name. But if not love, then just her way, a gentle smile, a word to say, “Are you well?” —and in that light, my soul would rest, my heart take flight. O God , I dream of other skies, of further worlds, of newer lives. If fate allows me, one last breath, then let her walk with me till death . Through gardens where the flowers lean, we’ll speak of stars, of things unseen. She’ll hold my hand, we’ll climb the tower, and I’ll be hers for just an hour. That fleeting hour, so brief, so small, would be enough, would be my all . O God , if dawn brings me to dust, let sorrow find her, as it must. Let her call my name once more, the way she did in days before. Let my eyes, though dim with night, hold her face as their last sight. And when they close, and silence stays, her voice will guide me through the haze. Also published on Medium: https://medium.com/@Shuklaprabhat/a-wish-20c1298abdd4

I didn't mean to ruin it - the gardener- the realisation by Prabhat Shukla   I didn’t mean to ruin it. That’s the lie I tell myself, because it sounds gentler than the truth. The truth is: I liked how it looked when I was in control. I planted that garden when I needed something to obey me. The world wasn’t listening. The soil did. I watered it carefully, like care could compensate for the rest of my failures. When things grew uneven, I told myself it was natural. When they grew wild, I called it neglect. There was an insect — I remember that much. I don’t remember when it arrived. Things that matter rarely announce themselves . And when I cleaned it, I cut quickly. Clean lines. Efficient hands. I didn’t look for what might be hiding. Later, I found the quiet unbearable. Not peaceful. Accusing. You don’t miss what you never respected. You miss what you assumed would survive you. I tell people I was maintaining the garden. That’s another lie. I was afraid of disorder because it...