Demise

In the final hour,

Her breath cracked like
An un-oiled machine,
Summoning strength to
Give it a final try.

Her eyes rolled around,
To look at whoever was
Present. Maybe she
Acknowledged everyone
One last time.

Then, I who sat, rubbing
Her right foot.
It suddenly turned cold.
When I saw her leg,
The otherwise brown-

Had turned yellow.
The kind of yellow,
You can't imagine but
When see, you know the
Horror of that paleness.

One of my aunts burst
Into a huge cry.
What was lingering in
Everyone's head was
A manifested reality.

The proper noun 

Grandma was, moments ago-
Laid there lifeless as
A body waiting to become
Fading memory.

On the third day when
The crows fed on the
Food offerings of Tithi,
It was as if a permission
Was granted to take her,

"Off our conscience."
So that we could comfortably
Push her to the realm
Of forgetfulness for the
Slow assault of time.