Cottage: The one in Woods

It was a new place for her. The new town furnished with green air and humbleness in abundance. She wiped her past in her pinafore and worked as a maid in that cottage. Through the little window in her workplace, she made it possible to perceive a portion of people’s life whenever someone passed by.

There was a bridge on the way to the cottage. The one she never got slightest of opportunity to cross. A brook flowed under this very bridge, the quaintness of which was so appealing the passengers were compelled not to cross the bridge without pausing for the moment. This very moment the brook helped her see the very image of their being. 

An old man passes by the bridge every day. He sees sunshine when he leans to penetrate through the depths of flowing water. He was a widower with no children left to take care of. He sees sunshine because that is the way he feels walking back home after spending a long day at orphanage with children keenly listening and applauding his stories. 

A young boy passes by the bridge every day. The brook, as soon as she sees him, gears up. The boy then throws a pebble down the bridge in a way nuclear bombs are bombarded in world wars. In the most artistic way possible, fine and concentric ripples are formed. The brook gets an equally artistic smile on the face of the boy.

A sister from the Baptist church passes by the bridge every day. She bends down to see the face of brook which hustles in a way psalms are chanted.

These people had somewhere occupied a place in that girl’s daily life. Besides, the girl waited for someone else. The person seemed to exist not in the proximity of her conscience. A person to who even the brook did not answer.

Even he passed by the bridge every day. To him, perhaps, the brook spoke of nihility. Neither did the water whine nor did it grizzle, but simply flowed.

All she did was waited near the window each day for him to come, each day for him to come and the brook to answer to his questions or rather her questions.

P.S.: There are numerous facets of life. One fine day, try out living without experiencing a particular one.

Last thought in consciousness and then sway in swoon..

There are things that timE cannot erase..and there are some which we dont let gO..

I didnt let, be erased, the memories of those beautiful childhood afternoons when, after school, i used to sit with the watchman near the garden of my apartment and tell him stUff i did at school.. and time wasnt able to erase the memOries of a post-beautiful-afternoon momEnt when i enter the empty drawing room of my home with burden on my shoulders framing a picture that would probably speak of mundane isolation..

SomehOw, today i love talking to a stranger n listen to his story, just like the watchman who used to listen to me.

Somehow, today i loVe entering an empty room and feEl satiated with the silence around...just like tOnight..with peaCe and endless dePths of blackness to sink intO..the daylight today is toO shallow !

Forlorn Being

I was aloft this fascinating light house and you were besides me. You were tied and from wind separated. 

I was climbing down this fascinating light house. You were behind me. And with a flicker we became alone together. Prologues say what enigma is and swiftly my life turns oxymoron. 

The golden hue is set to sour into silver. The standing sun smirks at me.A constant glare at the steps behind and the constant overwhelming nothingness. I am still climbing down the lighthouse that seems to never end. Your absense brings on the vehement dislike of myself. You sing of songs of laughter and heights while i speak of my physical forlorn being.

At times when i unfurl lighter shades of life, i find heavy lumps somwhere down the throat.

At times when i unfurl darker shades of life, i find muscles rising up the cheek bones.

Today*

Yaad hai voh pehli mulaaqaat yaad hai

Yaad hai mujhe teri har ek baat yaad hai
Voh maheki raatein, saari saugaatein
Bheegi meri aankhon se aansu beh chale
Kisse kuch puraane mil gaye
Rone ke bahaane mil gaye..

Kisse kuch puraane mil gaye

Rone ke bahaane mil gaye..

The fondness to this sad song makes me elated.

Love this song for today.

Normalcy...

Don't look at me with such expecting eyes.

I can't confront them.

Don't bring yourself too close to my cheeks.

I become uncomfortable.

Love seems to be so strange.

And im not expert at the fine art of ignoring.

When i turn and start going away, dont hold my hands tight.

It hurts.

Stop bringing my name on your lips.

Somewhere deep down my heart freezes.

The perfume points your presence here.

Im sinking finding ways to hide.

Trying to pretend that i unnoticed you.

Oh ! im so not trodden to this wet feeling yet.

So,leave me to myself.

Go ahead,out of my environs.

Leave me behind.

Never again look at me with those expecting eyes.