I described the stretching of your lips, how they stopped my breath when you giggled at the silliest of my jokes.
When it all went down with sorrow of your life and mine. You said I am the only one who can bring it back! Bring back the smiles. You said even if it doesn't you still have our memories to relive with, to smile again.
I said what if the show is over and you don't feel the same. You lose the quest to watch what happens at the end! And, you said I won't cause its not the ending, it's not the show that I am living for. It is you that has adhered me to this world, otherwise I'd have left it long before.
You said you can't describe how happy I make you. When I text I love you. You said it gives an unelaborated sensation of joy which you can't decipher where from it comes, but it feels good.
You said "it'll take a life to forget you!" You said all the things, and you said I won't leave. Yes, you didn't leave as a body. But surely you did, as a soul!
Long ago I thought it doesn't matter to be a part of someones life, because all people do is leave. ! .
I swear I meant it all when I said I am crying please don't hurt me. . - a u r e a t e
How do you stay in someone's life as a memory? Pondering over this, I could imagine if its science, it should be explained not only using the anatomy of our brain.
I remember a water droplet falling from my hair on my nose after I am done with the shower, because it made me happy! I remember the monk chanting verses as I passed through that fig tree while riding home from school 6 years back.
I remember a polythene bag that used to reside stuck on the school gate, I remember that it was a resident there for more than a week, when I was in 5th grade.
I remember when I was in 2nd grade I was asked by a bunch of junkies to take their cricket ball out, from the mud it went deep. I was bullied, I remember how then my sister fought with them and rescued me before I even touched the mud.
I remember how I felt foolish of myself when I paid 5 bucks to a roadside magician, when he promised me that he'll show me a trick, later found out that everyone else watched that trick too, just without paying anything.
I remember how I plunged the scissor on my feet in anger, I remember that I didn't remember anything for a day after that.
I remember when I fell down from the stairs of my dad's friend's house, and got injured on the back of my head. I remember that I didn't tell anyone home, until they found out when my mother was caressing my head out of affection only to take her hands soaked in blood.
I remember, I owned a red car that I used to brag about so much, that I slept with it residing in my embrace! And I remember I was the only one to drop it off of third floor when I knew I am addicted to it.
I remember I barely could open my pinky finger when I was home from school, riding for 15 kilometres straight in 3 degrees, I remember how it felt when I could stretch my palm open wide after hours of struggle.
I remember staying alone under a haunted tree at 12 till my father arrived to pick me up. I remember I didn't tell anyone about how dreaded I was and I almost micturated my 1½ feet pants. I remember if I would've told my mother she would've hugged me because she already knew I was feared.
How can I not remember the faces then?
The faces that passed just two years back, just few days back.
A thing I realized late, remembering a life is easy, than remembering a face.
Never knew rainstorms are soothing. We all have admired rain, at some point in our lives, -but not rainstorms.- It is where you start hating the rain. She surely is destructive enough to call her by that name!
Soothing as raindrops, screaming as thunder and gushing as wind. Oh wind! she loves wind.
Let me put it this way, -May be she needs wind, to admire her potentials, just how multiple raging destruction she can be, to herself.-
As it rained today, I could imagine her standing in the rain washing away her liveliness, she wants to be dead. I don't know the reason, but she sure does. May be to choose another obsession all over again. Isn't life an obsession in itself?
But if I ask her, she'll stay quiet. Quietness! That quietness before the storm starts! She then aquivers as if blinking lightening strikes, before she blows that billowing pain out with sounds leaving me deaf for several seconds! Yes seconds? Seconds are eternities in her presence!
I just called her 'dewdrops' in my dreams. i wonder how perfectly she can be everything that nature creates, and she can be everything that can cause death to those. She is beguiling enough to ask one for their life, and they won't hesitate once! Daunting enough to ask me to shut up, nonetheless she ends up laughing after it. And, ends up washing away my gloom, as she washed the liveliness I quoted.
When I am cycling down the road, or listening to an old cliche love song which I rarely do. I remember how beautifully it all relates to her aura, in a positive way!
The road -- reminds me of how one can love staying away from his niche, just to love the dirt.
The trees -- remind me of, why one can stand alone in the scorching sun and bleeding rain yet with no purpose of serving herself.
The sky -- Oh, don't get me started on this one! she is the sky above me! she is the reason why I believe something that's so huge and intimidating, can have such a fine tuned heart mellifluous enough to put me to sleep in her arms.
The breeze -- that hovers over my cheeks and glides away near my ears, reminds me how she stops my breath with mere 8 letters. Giving me goosebumps, making me wish to close my eyes till end of the time.
The songs I talked about, I rarely relate the romantics, what I do relate is the purpose with which the songs are written! I then do believe that these adjectives can't be false, only if it's her for whom the songs are written, and if its me who's writing the song. Here -
I'll write a love song, with the texts you used to send. half way through the heaven, eternities together we spend.
yes I'll write a letter, so you can bloom in joy, I'd kiss you midnights, watch jealous birds spy.
yes, i am so mean, i live thousand miles away would you still accept me? I've got nothing more to say, I've got nothing more to say!
nights full of stars, and roses bed, no scars, being away so far,
i will read you sweetest book, so broken heart would mend, with the liners of your lips, my breath droplets would blend.
I'll write a love song, with the texts you used to send. half way through the heaven, eternities together we spend.
at midnights, at chirping mornings, I'd place you calls! we would talk whole summer, whole rains, untill autumn falls!
would you like to see the stanzas, in gloom I've penned! I've been sinking alone in darkness, would you be my friend? yes I'd like to be your friend! yes, I'd be your friend!
I'll write a love song, with the texts you used to send. half way through the heaven, eternities together we spend.
I was really calm while writing this. Don't know why. Took me some some 'thou'? Nah 'though' @lily_love the starting lines an excerpt from our conversation of yesterday. This is for two people. You're one of them.
One of the foremost things towards attaining peace is realising the fact that everything doesn't revolve around you or your world and making assumptions based on loose facts or even strong ones is futile. You do not know what is going on in the mind of the other person or his or her life and can not control what he or she does but you surely can prevent it from affecting you. Your life depends on you and none other. You deserve to be loved by someone who never lies and consistently shows efforts to be around you. You do not deserve to be betrayed. You do not deserve to hear the rumours against you. Those people don't perforce should be exterminated because you do not know what they know, which side of the story they are aware of, what is going on in their lives. It is not their fault. Humans tend to make mistakes, it is what makes us humane. Your past isn't stupid neither the people in it. If you consider them stupid and think you're superior then I must tell you go and look at the mirror and the person who stares back at you is the dumbest person you've met. Relationships that are toxic can be improved if you talk to the person about their Toxicity. Everyone wasn't toxic since their birth. Children are mere wet cement and it is their surroundings and parents and people they meet and circumstances and situations that makes them the person who they are today. It is not necessary that they'll continue to be the person they are in the present, forever. They will change for the people they love for the people who love them. Change is a never ending process. You have no right to hear the comments and what people back bitch about you . Well if they do that means nothing is wrong in you rather something is wrong with them. Jealousy is a strong emotion. And vengeance as well. The only advice I can give you is never lie to another human and forgive everyone. No one wants to listen to one another's lies. If you feel jealous know that you do not have a right to possess anything. Everything would end, the moment your end comes. There is goodness around you but it is overshadowed by the darkness and pessimism around you.
You need to know that people love you and that you do matter. You need to know that you are supposed to be right here to be in this exact moment to read this. You need to know that there would come a stage where you won't feel anything affecting you anymore because you know you're much more powerful and lucky. If your last love was unrequited know that it wasn't love, it was an experience and experiences need to be cherished, there's always something new to learn from your actions gone wrong. The kind of love you deserve is one full of storms and rains and rainbows and sunshine and every emotion except jealousy and disrespect and betrayal. If someone hides anything from you one day it'll come right in front of your eyes. You need not give everyone a second chance but sometimes you should. The moment they act in a way you feel they ought not have, you have to talk about what that behaviour and if they do not comply to you I suggest your peace matters more. There are a certain set of people who would love you no matter what, your parents if they had you on their own will and they'll do anything for you placing your happiness before theirs because you're their happiness. And few friends who know to some extent how you truly are. And someone other than your parents who will love you, who you would love too. That person would come knocking on your door someday but that day there are high possibility of you not opening the door because of the hurt you got in your past and I'd say let them come. Give them a chance atleast as your friend and trust me if he/she is the right one you'll know. You'll know by their actions, words, eyes, hope, and how you behave when they're around but time is essential. Give time. If that person just wanted temporary solace he'll/she'll go and you'll know. Existence crisis would come because we're all humans with consciousness of our life and life at times doesn't make sense. Optimistic nihilism is a great reposte against existential crisis.
The gist is: You should never really believe in any rumours and never spread rumours about anyone. Do not let the people who have nothing to do with your lives and do not love or care for you, mar your emotions or feelings. Honestly, they are not worth your attention or anger or response. They'll get what they do. Karma is real. And whoever has this high ego or narcissism in them and consider almost everyone inferior know that your downfall is near. I'm narcissistic I admit but I have empathy and humility in me. I'm impulsive and act like a pressing cooker often times but it is the things I keep holding on which I should have long ago let go of, that makes me equivalent to a ticking bomb. But now I know everything and I want to thank everyone in my past and especially my present letting me know that I matter. And calling someone bitch is really stupid you know? I basically love dogs and I know most of you do. And calling me sang-bitch or bitch froid is really funny I wouldn't even have mentioned it but I'm glad you called me that Because dogs are really loyal unlike some beautiful people whose history or background or working of mind I'm unaware of. So the next time someone calls you bitch or dog I'd say it is not an insult rather a compliment. Whoever has read this till this far I need you to check the pronunciation of sangfroid right away. I make mistakes because I'm a human. Peace would come one day when something happens to you that should have broken your insides but to the contrary nothing affects you anymore. Remember that you can never stoop down to the level of people who hurt you because "What goes around, comes around"
-An excerpt from someone turning 17 years old soon.
A really neat advice: you're the best person you've met. You must love yourself despite the flaws because in the end you're the only person who's going to be with you till your death. The one who loves you despite your flaws and has veneration for you is difficult to find but more difficult to be kept close to you and some limited people who want the greater good for you. You must keep them close to you. Do not overthink about anything and ask if you have anything to ask to anyone but in a bit polite way. And do know the difference between loving someone and letting them go when the time comes. For love means keeping them and still allowing them to go if they wish. And if you're an egoist I suggest you to stop being one. You're betraying yourself by becoming one. Everything doesn't revolve around you.
P.S. I could have written a really powerful impulsive post considering what I saw on Mirakee but you know what? You're not worth my pity, not worth wasting my ink on or wasting my time or emotions. And do not trust the rumours.
I've been clicking pictures of the prettiest raindrops on my railing and when they dry away, the dust settling around that hemisphere forms a circle on the metal edge. It doesn't take much of an effort to freeze a moment in a way it looks beautiful; you just have to see it. That moment of strangeness within yourself to find the contrasting colours of a cracked ceiling & the bright blue sky extremely breathtaking, it's what you see, it doesn't exist by itself really. You see a pretty boy down the street, with his natural hair pushed back, against their natural growth & his melanin giving God complex to the half risen sun; you don't necessarily fall in love with him, do you? You just find him pretty, nonetheless, not handsome, not even beautiful. He's pretty in those eyes of yours. Capture it, steal it from him, he wouldn't even notice. I promise. It's what you see, but anyway, maybe your photographs in the red room would prove otherwise to their point of view.
I wouldn't call myself a photographer, I just carry around a poor quality camera of an android phone with cracks over it. It isn't a hobby either. You don't stop time for the same accidents happening again and again because they don't remain accidents that way; unless, unless they happen to change the course of time when you press "play".
There was a boy with his messy hair falling all over his head, that I once saw, perhaps, about more than three years back. There wasn't anything unusual about him, except his name, which used to confuse me at first. I had been playing around with people, quoting words which weren't my own, displaying pictures I didn't own; but something about him made me stop & look for reasons to click a photograph of his. It wasn't invasion of his privacy, he wasn't even looking at me, he wasn't waiting for anything, his shoes were well taken care of, blue or probably black; I could tell he could see me, a bunch of people followed him back and forth & he'd wave his hand once or twice for them to be satisfied, trying to prove his existence perhaps. A specific number of people around him; he said he can't control the number of people who choose to be around him but he could choose to control the number of people he wanted to be around. And then he came to me, looked at my plagiarised pictures & commented a thing or two, shrugged his shoulders, asked my name & left without telling his. He was walking & I took a picture of him against the lilac sky, it seemed like he could use a haircut perhaps and his choice of a floral shirt made him stand out for the photograph. Luckily for me, he turned his face back to me once, as I captured him, he didn't smile.
In the red room, the light was red and dim, yet I insisted on focusing on the man with the messy hair. There was something about him that made me curious, something that drove the sense of looking for the extraordinary away. Through him, I wanted to look for the ordinary. I happened to drop his picture and step on it, perhaps because once my picture gets ruined, I tend to recapture it. So I found an excuse to look for him, in the bleakest, most ordinary corners of the world.
This time, I was looking for him. Writing something, seemingly original this time, about an adventure & I noticed, him, again, tripping over my metal glass. His P-cap fell over and I think I've mentioned his odd paired socks way many times than he would've wanted me to. I just stood there laughing at him, and his stone cold face made it seem like he didn't know how to give away a thin slice of his smile. He just kept tidying his shirt and awkwardly stood still, wanting to say something, but he didn't. He read. But he wasn't reading my words this instant; he had bent caricature, his one foot in front of other, I could see him up close, the pigmented skin on his neck, the badly shaven beard and, probably, make-believe eyebrows. He was reading me. I took out my camera and sneaked in to click a picture, yet the enormous flash made him aware of everything I was trying to do, he flinched, didn't smile. And he left; making it clear how he didn't want to be, I don't know, held? Maybe.
It was the season of the Blue. Blue, I've been told it's the most beautiful colour, is it? I was coloured in Blue. Someone used to tell me how my smile looks perfect in blue. Someone painted in Blue. The sky, was blue, the roads, the wallflowers. The moon was blue that evening. I was Blue. Or perhaps, as someone told me once, "it's what you see, it doesn't exist by itself really. He's pretty in those eyes of yours." I saw myself in love with that blue but perhaps it wouldn't seem so blue in that red room. I photographed everything that seemingly could touch the colour; even my heart, in blues. When the world is painted in one colour and one colour only, you lose the importance of that colour's crayons. Perhaps I was wondering whether that raindrop on my railing was a teardrop of mine, when I saw that floral shirt, red and blue, emerge from behind the benches. He stopped by and read the edges of the dust settled around my tear; told me how he went home that day and wrote down all the things he would've wanted to say to me after knowing what colour I was inside, how decayed; yet decided against making me feel what he felt.
He made me stand up, picked up an ant from my shoulder, crawling up my way to those ears to chant what they always have, he threw it away. His thumb ran across my cheek to wipe off a tear that fell after he touched me, and the blue faded away from that portion of my skin. I was white. We talked about and walked around the places we won't walk. He sat down by my left, showed me flickering blue lights, fading away, I saw them in his eyes, the first time I felt an emotion stronger than hiding inside of him, I photographed his newness, his realness, him. He didn't smile.
Neon lights, broken bars, handicapped street lights; people coming alive at night. I've been clicking pictures of the prettiest insignificance; perhaps you wouldn't understand. It's been more than three years, more than three stories I've told you about us, more than three photographs I've clicked of us; when I tell him how I can't forget the blue still, how I wish to remember it, through the photographs I clicked; yet I wonder if he'd kiss me white despite such an odorless album under my pillow. And all he replies is that he fears how he isn't enough to make the blue go away. I cry to be unable to make him realise, he said, "Everytime I've made you cry, I do too"; and I spill every emotion of mine on my covers and pictures, I fail to relapse. He didn't smile.
Perhaps you don't understand. The moon doesn't need to be visible always. Sometimes, you need someone, to allow yourself to stand, to allow them to pick you up when you fall on the footpath and all of your photographs spill into the gutter. You yell at them, just because they couldn't save all of those pictures but four, and you. Sometimes you need them selflessly, because they make you love yourself. Sometimes you love someone because that photo frame holding the photograph from the first date you had still holds good.
I fell for you because you were ordinary. I fell for you because you understood me and didn't need to pretend to exist around me. I fell for you because you told me you are never leaving me. I fell for you because you didn't so easily fall for me. I fell for you because you become so happy when I tell you how your sense of clothing, that wardrobe full of floral shirts, is spectacular. I fell for you because you don't go to sleep without seeing me. I fell for you because you found me beautiful in every colour. I fell for you because you don't ask me for a picture without clothes on, you ask me for what the tag says on my bra. I fell for you because you talk about fingering belly buttons with me. I fell for you because you panic while holding babies down an elevator if their parents don't collect them within a few minutes. I fell for you because you cry when you see a picture of adorable puppies laying in a grass field. I fell for you because you have a fetish for eye movements. I fell for you because you told me you'd support me if I chose to be a mother. I fell for you because you don't tell me that I shouldn't say I have a sad luck; instead you tell me that you are in sad luck because I am too. I fell for you because you wait every morning to talk to me before you fall asleep. I fell for you because you wanted me to wake up after you so that you could kiss me & watch me wake up. I fell for you because you show me the colour of your underwear everyday. I fell for you because you always wish to help me wash my hair. I fell for you because you named my nose peanut and my pyjamas polka. I fell for you because you call me muru. I fell for you because you're not someone I thought I'd look for reasons to click a photograph of. I fell for you not because I needed to; I needed to have a friend, I wanted to fall for you. I fell for you because I wake up and you call me yours. I fell for you because me smiling makes me the highlight of your day. I fell for you because you made me walk in places we won't walk. I fell for you because you kiss my photographs in the dark, under your covers. I fell for you because you made me click a picture of whenever I smiled, just to develop a habit of smiling lately.
I wasn't in need of your love, I wanted it. I wasn't broken & hung over you like a cloth stuck onto a branch. I was made to learn to love myself before loving someone else. I never fell in love before photographing you. I stopped searching for a blue in the red room after stacking your photographs. I fell more in love with you after you told me, "You made me learn how to smile in photographs. Whenever I have to smile in a picture, I think of you."
Do you really know what love feels like? Or do you just pretend that you do?
My grandmother has always kept a hold of all the things that she could remember her memories through; that tin box with all of those rusted currencies her father used to bring her during his long term service, or those mirrors she used to sew over her tie dyed dupattas while struggling to raise her four children as a widow; that leaf from the huge mango tree she used to have in her neighbour's yard, the one she used to climb upon to pluck off some luscious mangoes & one day uprooted it to plant it in her's, that tree that still gives the sweetest mangoes of Meerut. She has always held on to her favourite things; then there was something she adored the most, her husband. Those necklaces and bangles made out of elephant tusks that she wore at her wedding, those letters he used to write to her when on his duty, their photographs together in black and white, she remembers the colour of her sequined suit - lavender; his dapper shirt & raised coat - dusky, maroon; the way he used to call her name that made her blush, the way he used to scold her that made her soften down, the way he used to tease her about smiling all the time else her lips would be cornenered by permanent wrinkles; she remembers it all, she serenades their songs from those old bollywood movies with her deepened wrinkles around her lips as she smiles with her white hair.
That was love to me growing up. Love that was real, true to me, something I wanted to have someday. She forgets my name so she uses an alternative to "doll" to call me, but she never forgets the cologne that he used to wear. When she gave me the beads of those yellowed elephant tusks, I wanted them & cleaned them with a toothpaste, beaded them through a string and wore it over my long skirt, showing off how my grandfather left a gift for me. I used to touch it and feel him, his love for my grandmother. I used to wear it over shirts and jeans and what not. I used to love their love and I could swear, I felt it go by the curtains, levitating, I felt it kiss my cheeks and bless me, I felt it in my blood, for once.
I don't know how to let you know of the ways and the why's of how I love you so desperately. I love you in a way that I am always so scared, if you are not by my side to kiss me someday, there would be no one who makes me feel the way you do. There are days I would smile like a clown while whisking yogurt, lifting off the spoon to make "A's" over the surface of the bowl, remembering how you made "J's" with the chocolate you were melting away for your cakes. There are days I find myself cooking in the kitchen and my head makes me believe how you'd come any minute from behind, holding my waist between your arms, kissing my neck and asking me what I was doing.
I smile. I smile when I think of whispering your name as I wake up to an empty bed and bury my face into my warm pillow, I smile when you say you'd do anything for my smile. I smile like an idiot when you call me by your name, like a fool when you say "Let me love you", like a sick hopeless lover when you say how you always want me to lay over you, you laying over me; like a charlie when you say you wish to kiss me like I am all you've got, the only good thing to happen to you in a long time, the only part of you that you would want to hype up, show off; I fall for you when you choose my clothes - an oversized shirt and an equally oversized, mismatched bottom pair, I fall for you when you say I'm the only one who can make you not hate yourself, I fall for you when you say my name like it was yours telling me how I'm as important as your name is to you, I fall for you enough to write your name on my body as many times as I can remember, I fall for you enough to put my shirt over my head and to be a Smurf in the bathroom with my hair tied in my towel - just as you love it. I fall for you when you take care of me as I tell you at 3 am that my periods woke me up, I fall for you when you say it's okay to ruin my bedsheets on my periods, I fall for you when you choose the colour of my bra for me, when you scroll over your phone and find some earrings that you thought would look good on me, I fall for you when you say you wanted to punch that guy who talked badly to me, I fall for you when you know exactly which dress I find too tight when I'm bloated, I fall for you when you ask me to illustrate the recipe for my coffee, when your eyes sweat from receiving your birthday gift from me, I fall for you, and I keep falling. I keep falling in love with you. Over and over again, all over again.
You're someone who was there when I was in pain, when I was touched, when I wanted to bleed on my bed through my wrist. You're someone who told me that I meant something, that I was important, that I was worth something, to you, when everything else left my side. You're someone who feels the pain when I burn my hand by placing it on the stove accidentally, someone who loves me more when I'm crying on the floor, someone who can't even get mad at me for more than 5 minutes. You're someone who protects me from my bad dreams and is always there to make me feel so much safer, even without his physical presence. You're someone who would see me be in love with someone else, just because I'm happy with them and just because you love me more. You're someone who made me, built me with love, someone who says he's gotten softer and sweeter with everything because of the way I love him. They've been telling me how this won't work out, this distance, but we're going to make it work, aren't we? Please make it work?
My aunt fell in love with a man who loved her back. A man who loved the way she sounded, a man who had bought her looped earrings with her maroon suit, a man who loved it when she wore her red lipstick, until her mother told her how he belonged to a poor hut shed, how he never deserved the perfect woman my aunt was, not with that face of an animalistic illiterate man. It's been 27 years since then, and she remains unmarried, those hands are still white, she has gained a lot of weight due to her medical conditions, she has denied every single marriage proposal and still looks at pictures of babies as if she was an infertile woman. I never realised, that was love.
My second aunt fell in love with a man who loved her back. A man who loved the way she looked in that orange and green wedding dress she tried on a week before their wedding, a man who found her absolutely stunning in whites despite her dark skin undertones, a man who left the decision to design their wedding card invitations on her, until his mother demanded a hefty amount of money in return of feeding the newly wed bride, a dowry amount, an amount for forgotten love. It's been 25 years since then, and she remains unmarried, those hands are still white, she has lost a lot of weight as she lost her appetite for good things, thinks too much about others but tends to forget about herself, she has never received any other marriage proposal except one that I denied for her and still looks at the fabric of her orange and green wedding dress with as much love as he did when she gives away it's pieces for me to wear on a family function. She stopped wearing those whites, all of them. I never realised, that was love.
My uncle fell in love with a woman who loved him back. He was a man who loved the way she smiled, a man who loved the way she held his hand, the way she looked at him when she argued, the way she was ready to be hated all her life by his mother. His mother never approved of his marriage because this newly wedded bride was manipulating him, according to her. She disowned him, he ran away until one day he showed up and asked them who I was, a baby in his bed, his blanket, he cried hysterically, held my feet and cried and said "Please don't be me! Please don't ever be me!" He adopted two sons and has one of his own. He lives in a small home, a dirty place, works on a low income but has his wife, three beautiful cousins of mine whom I've nevet met, let go of his religion and has his mother cry for him behind his back, a mother who pretends to hate him. But at least, he's in love.
My mother fell in love with a man who said that he loved her back. A man who claimed to love the way she looked, but that's where it stopped. A fat man who lied about his declining eyesight, an ugly man who ate too much and acted surprised when nothing was left on the plate for his wife to feed on. A man who promised her mother that he'd treat her like a queen and then snored off to the times she complained of how his brothers made obscene comments on her body. A man who impregnated her with a baby within a few months of marriage, kicked her and beat her pregnant belly, and threatened to kill her if she lost 'his' child because of her unconscious death. A man who said he'd make her a slut and that there were women like her in the market that he could buy for two rupees. A man who never held his son after being born and created a seed of hatred inside that child as he grew up. A man who made her a mother with a new born baby feeding on her breasts still sore, without her consent, and made her abort the unborn, again, without her consent. A man who then gave her a daughter, me, perhaps, an outcome of marital rape, or perhaps an outcome of just rape, I don't know my age, my blood, I don't want to. A man who sexually abused this outcome of rape all her childhood, his son alike, a man who told his wife that she would have been infertile if it wasn't for him. A man with nothing today, a man who doesn't know what love is. I realised, that was not what love is.
Your body is a fortress under seige and you ball up your fists, and prepare to throw punches as the road forks out from somewhere in front of your eyes the choice between bare knuckle honesty and lies white, yet subtle.
This is your castle the one you built with your own two hands, and you gave your heart granite walls, underneath the soft underbelly of your soul.
This is how you must be, come the hushed whispers when you cross the lines this is not what you should be doing their voices get louder as you walk away with their echoes ringing in your bones.
They do not see what your eyes can they have sight while you have vision trace an arrow and watch it soar into the sky they let you go because you refused to accept the status quo, you dared to ask why.
A very long and messy read, you can skip. The title is an example for the prompt #titlec
The kite rose higher in the sky and fit perfectly in the imperfect shades. Light orange blush of the windy sky, and a mixture of other different colours of kites all over. It looked like a puzzle which finally found its lost pieces. Thought it can be complete now.
It was fun, for me as a writer to see colourful papers trying to wrap the sky in a present and tying it with the strings. I was looking for words in between clouds to describe the picturesque but the dancing kites wouldn't let me concentrate. An alarm was buzzing in a corner of my mind, maybe a sixth sense but I ignored it.
Saw a couple kites falling down, followed by joyous screams of children running along the pavement. Little kite runners. They can't beat Hassan though. But the smiles on their faces were priceless. It was an incentive I got of my two story house, as from my roof I could look at those chapped lips spread on their faces into riant smiles. No one knows if they had breakfast, or even dinner last night but here they were,running and dancing.
I read somewhere "Nobody is happy all of the time, nobody can be happy all of the time. But all of us have happy moments, and we just need to try to hold on to that." -Avitaj And maybe these kids will cherish these moments their whole life. Unlike me who'll be crying tomorrow because someone left.
As hours passed the number of kites falling increased to an unsatisfying number, a number I couldn't count. Kites and strings were falling in every direction. The sky was losing all the colours. 'Nothing is permanent.'
It wasn't a lovely view anymore. It was a battlefield. The most brutal kite wins.
I felt blood rushing through my body as my brain began dipping it's lobes into the blues I am always swimming in. The bigger fishes eat smaller fishes. Sharks eat bigger fishes. Killer whales eat sharks.
-You'd want to pause for a minute in life but the predators won't let you. Not to blame them, they're running from something(/one) -more stronger and perfect.-
Focus. Back to the sky, three kites remaining. Focus on the strings, the new cut on my index finger, not on the pain but on the aim. Survive. Only if I embraced my sixth sense back then, which was telling me how these strings are glass coated. You try to open the present of happiness and it'd tear your skin.
Three kites. A red, a blue and a yellow. The red and blue were already entangling with each other, they didn't bother me,for what can a 'yellow' person do. I stayed close.
Blue knew its way around in air and along other kites,but one wrong pull got it swiftly falling towards the ground. One wrong move ended blue.
Red, a forever rival. It didn't know much about anything,not even emotions but it was heartless and sharp and that was enough to win this life.
It smirked at me, thinking yellow is friendly and kind. I let it think that and I smiled. It rose higher in the sky, I knew what it was going for. Mail pench. I let it, and it did but the air wasn't enough for this move, it never is and hence I went for bottom pench, piercing the bareilly string into two, it's heart into millions. One pull of my china string and I killed red.
I am the last kite on the sky. Everyone's heading home getting ready for dinner while I sit on my roof, my kite still in air and I ponder on life, survival and death. You can't avoid life. You'll strive to survive willingly or unwillingly. Death is inevitable and not in your control to postpone but...
I tore the poisonous thread and I let it go. I let yellow free. I let myself free.
I saw the kite swift away into air, string dangling behind. My soul has never felt this light before. Peace.
I chose peace.
-raika 24/6/20 ____________________________ ~China string is sharper than bareilly string. By the end I realized, it could've been inspired the kite runner, but it wasn't. It is inspired by a kite that rises daily when all other kites have descended at sunset. I do have a picture but it ain't clear so...