A toast to all of you. I really appreciate you guys for always being there for me, seeing me in my bests and worsts and tolerating my stories related to all the drama going on in my life. I have been a very real and a very true version of myself with each one of you. I wish we could be together.. but it's fine, the odds are not always in our favour. I will really miss all of you.
The wooden varnish on the table Gives in reluctantly to the attacks of my nails As I scribble the hieroglyphics of a failed time table To leave behind a stale trail Of all the weight in my mind Beyond its expiry date And past its shelf life, Falling in love with putrefaction, Turning into a clone Of its own Stockholm Syndrome, Elated at the possibility of donating its carcass To a fermentation flask And churning in optimal conditions Until the grind turns it into wine And spills out finally as intoxicated lines.
The golden flame in one corner of the table Breathes in its soot While playing a crackling flute now and then When the faint wisps of evening breeze Eve tease it into an occassional jig, Disrupting its calm And scattering its warmth Till it no longer resembles a flame But a helpless dame Running helter skelter for shelter.
And then he began to notice, the dull color of my lips, the fine wrinkles on my skin. How my teeth weren't perfectly aligned. How my hair got frizzy after a long day at work. The way my waist wasn't the perfect size. He'd speak of my 'unfair' complexion and my biological clock running out of time. I'd listen to it all... and his issues with the way I looked at life. How my aversion to drinks was something that needed to be changed. How I should be more open to experimenting and try out cigarettes. He'd speak of the ways my introversion and over thinking were problems and needed to be addressed. How I needed to work on my looks and change the way I dressed. With his eyes following every beautiful girl on the streets, I was reduced to a mere thought he entertained, when he wished to be served in between the sheets. I started to notice the cuticle around my nails, my unshaven limbs. I looked at the dark circles around my eyes and my deviated nose. My face that lacked symmetry. How my breasts never settled at the same level. How my specs gave me a look that he termed medieval. Everything about me that used to be beautiful once. Was now a matter of shame, a matter of disgust. I felt the pressure growing on me. The pressure to try, try and be... someone I wasn't... to receive, his love and appreciation... I was so used to receiving. And I'd smile at it all. Because I was tired of being called... paranoid and insecure for speaking my mind. So I continued with the small talk he loved and I enjoyed. And never went ahead to tell him that his words were hurting me, as I pretended to blush and smile. Silently I lingered, putting my self respect aside. Questioning my worth, without him by my side.