The parapet was cold,
but not colder than his feet
as he stood two hundred metres from the ground
eager to take the dive of doom
into the limbo.
He tried everything else-
everything that was tainted with
faithless promises, fake love, false hopes
nothing worked,
just another sign of
the failure his mother always believed he was.
It's just that this time
he believed his mother.
As he stood there
at the threshold of everything and nothingness
he gratified himself with one final flight of fantasy
an ornate English funeral;
a family sobbing their hearts dry;
his faithful friends talking things about him-
things he knew
and things he probably will never know.
He lifts his right foot
and flirts with the cold air over the dreadful city.
One last check if the laws of gravity still held.
Down below,
the churning city was as usual,
clueless of the screams of exhausted souls.
He attempts last but one act of bravery
and looks down at
the miniature cars
the specks of human life
meandering between them
like ants building imaginary castles,
dancing to kafkaesque rhythms and
with a jolt in the nerves,
his hands lose heat
his legs lose weight
his spine drains of all blood
and
he cocks back his right leg
retreating back to the terrace.
Maybe he was not ready yet.
There were many battles yet to fight
before he could afford to lose to the final one.
he takes the elevator back to the ground floor
where gravity was favourable
to most of life on this planet.
He survived-
at least for today.
But
what if?
all this while,
what if he wasn't
afraid of heights?