Radio Jockey: On Air with Devi.
Her window panes resembled the symbol of a raging band. Her door, had memorized her last footsteps her waiting eyes seeking a glance of her dead son. The kitchen's back door, broken too many times, was locked shut with her stubbornness. Stubbornness.. that her son's knock will stir her awake. Her son is alive, she claimed, She saw him zooming on his dream bike. Just this morning! She cooked like a dream, it tasted much like her love for us raw, selfless, forever. Last summer we laid our floormats and she looked at the sky with her waiting eyes seeking a glimpse of her dead son. She used to pick up her phone the small ones that fit inside the palm. Like the promises she whispered to herself, that her son would return. It was her survival kit. Clicked once,twice, an hourly check perhaps seeking the missed call of her dead son. Gods and Snakes and The Dead ones visited her two bedrooms and her kitchen...
