In the year 2040, we will eat money, and in the night, we will hear the clink of coins and ruffle of notes inside of us.
If there’s anything that you must hold on to for dear life, it is your memory. It is a reminder of a life lived, albeit etched with suffering and hardships.
I learnt the art of drowning at the delicate age of ten,
when I was neck-deep in the toilet bowl, gasping for breath,
my voice reduced to flailing arms.
Once upon a time, a morning had chanced upon me, as I sat curled on a cold bench wishing life away.
And lent a little glow to the otherwise dim and somber day.