Vegetable

Emaciated as a withered spinach leaf,
Skin shriveled like an overripe gourd,
She was adamantly closed to the world
Like the leaves of a cabbage.
Was she just a vegetable after all?
I vehemently refused by my tongue
But my mind had its own mind.
Doubts rushed in like the red blood
Flowing persistently in her arteries.
At least blood hadn't betrayed her,
standing next to her cadaverous body.
Could she feel our presence out there?
Was there just a hint of radiance
peeping out of her pallid complexion,
Or was it just a distant reflection of her,
as she saw the blinding light beckoning
at the end of the tortuous tunnel?
Would she open her exhausted eyelids,
to give us her stern loving looks again?
Like a sentence resumes after a comma,
We wanted her to continue her life,
and continue being there in ours.
She was unaware, unfeeling, unconscious,
just like a vegetable.