They say ... Be careful with what you ask for .. you never know, you may get it.
You call me at 1am after 46 days I tell you about the girl I met few days ago and who waits to end her day with our dinner
I tell about the girl I met who listens to every suggestion by me doesn't let me think about any negativity who is there to listen to every happiness of mine and lend a shoulder for all the sadness she has been in all ways with me that you have never been
In a world of one night stands in a world of your place or mine She choose pleasure in resting on my shoulder watching the sky
and you asked to me describe her touch
Her touch is miracle that Will always surprise me it's like early morning breeze, which always brings smile and want you hug with Love rather than lust
Hows your life goona be with her ??..
I don't know about our future But she is the one who helps me to find Peace in every moment I spent with her and it is like living in alternative universe
I want to go to terrace I say....and she keeps following me and sits beside me just keeping the silence alive .... because she know my love for solitude
Did i say she is perfect epitome of smile on all faces which I just keep watching.
and you end the call with after exactly 46 seconds of silence
How often does it occur to you that the words you breathe in the name of love are really a slow poison.
You spend your days reading or writing those stories about how your ideal love would be, that how your autumns will bloom in the world you create between some untouched pages,
how your verses will become melodies and you both would sing them while having a long drive on one abandoned highway,
how you will finally stop making sound when you enter in your home at the midnight and close the door as slowly as possible because there is someone sleeping in the next room and you don't want to wake her up because you care about her.
how one day suddenly your Naina will stand in front of you on some railway station and your journey will begin while running to catch the moving train, first you won't realize the comfort, the love you share with her and after wandering around the world, at your best friend's wedding finally you will realize that she was, is the one, all that you were ever needed.
You will make small efforts like these in the name of love, for that person will be the most precious thing to you and her happiness is all that will matter to you.
You hope for all of these things to come true, all of the books that you have read about love, movies that you have seen on romance are what motivate you to believe that love does exist, but ain't all these just imagination of someone else, someone like you, someone who couldn't find love in reality so he made his own stories.
A sadness, so ancient, so deep, Surfaces in my eyes as I Lower my head in gratitude for all the love I have in my hands, the love I know is far more than one can have in a single life, the love I am not sure I deserve.
A love that stirs something Deep inside me, Something beyond ages, Beyond my limits, beyond right and wrong.
A love that fills my heart Up to it brims, and leaves me Aching for more all the same.
A love, that evokes equally deep fears, Ancient nightmares of loneliness, A constant ache of loss, Breezes of contentment Along with storms of anxiety.
And when someone asks me why I'm sad, I just smile and say nothing, cause I know The love and fears of this Magnitude are not meant to be bound with words, they are felt, felt ever so deeply by a mortal heart, Small as a fist But so, so empty, Always hungry for more.
Loneliness is a sticky feeling. You get it while walking... on a busy street one random day. You wash your feet, thinking it'll go away. You rub and scrub... with chemicals and herbs. But the stickiness lingers... it stays. It sticks your feet to the ground underneath. And it's harder for you to take each step. A few kind souls, hold your hand and help you move. But your struggle continues, as the stickiness remains. Time and again you find yourself glued at a random place... while everyone around moves at a free pace. Loneliness is a sticky feeling. It stays under your sole... at all times. No matter who is around, or how seemingly good is life. Only few, before whom, you lay down to rest, see the wounds on your feet, the shreds of your skin screaming the torments of an unwanted sticky feeling.
I remember when I was three and first I read you. You were none but "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". I was a tot yet I was more into connecting the stars than the dots. The constellations fascinated me and so somehow I missed your elegance.
The Stupidity Street :
I remember when I was ten and read you. You were "The Stupidity Street". I wondered how Ralph Sir wrote the marvellous. I kept digging but that was fathomless. That went slight over me and so I forgot to tether you rather I gulped your parts down without imbibing your essence.
Plethora of words :
I remember holding your hands. You were "The Daffodils", someday you were "Silver", someday "The Loveliest Of The Tree" and on my favourite winter, you were "Stopping By The Woods on A Snowy Evening". I worshipped the words of Frost.
Upon Westminster Bridge :
It was a dawn and I remember you were the breeze and touched me as "Upon The Westminster Bridge". I saw the sun with you and viewed how nature woke up from the deep slumber underneath the white bedsheet of enticing snow.
The Sick Rose :
It was a doom evening when I saw my uncle touching my elder sister, all over. I saw her sobbing. I saw her stained skirt. I was falling apart as if the woman inside me, it wanted to peel my skin off and come out. I remember I held your hands, you were "The Sick Rose". Blake sir and you, taught me a totally uncovered dimension. I deadpanned and went to sleep holding you closely right against my chest.
It were few more steps from being an adult and I heard the cry of innocence from afar. It was Syria, someday it was Kashmir someday a forlorn place from the ultramarine globe. I couldn't sleep for weeks and one day on your lap, I slept. You were none but "Brotherhood".
Shall I Compare To Thee :
Someone told me about love for the first time, I remember that afternoon. The person told me about the male-female bonding. Their thirst and feasting at dawn. I was scared as I couldn't find cosmos. I was scared as I couldn't trace the sacred heart whose mouth was telling me so. And like my all time saviour, you came, you were "Shall I Compare to Thee". I dissected you. We roamed to and fro, page to page the whole night and I slept well. I found love to be divine, pure and sacred. I found Friendship in love. I was at peace.
The Poetry Of Earth :
And on my nocturnal adventures on Adirondack swing, I found the love of witching hour, I found you, "The Poetry of Earth". The chaos of cricket, the cry of moon, the lullaby of rain, the petrichor and the bloom, the stars and the next sunrise ; all the charisma were around me and so I can never be alone, you taught me.
Still I used to ponder how it helps in lightening the burden of heart, how it conquers the silence, how it sings lullabies for our demons and how it makes our "could've been" and "perhaps" fall for it. I used to emerge for an era and sleep in my decades. Sleep was my voyage to the ocean of these queries.
Did Shakespeare have pain in life? Did Blake cry at night? Did nature bless Frost? I used to ponder.
But when my spring departed and winter gifted me its favourite snowfall on the paper, when the monsoon danced with my tears and left petrichor in my journal, when the falling leaves bade me goodbye yet promised me to come over in between the pages, when the spring knocked the door again,
I knew, I wrote.
And for the first time I felt each poem I read in past years. And one vivid thing poetry taught me.