I've often wished to be a muse, carved into his poetry. A sonnet perhaps, reflected in perfect symmetry of phrases and rhymes.
His muscular hands caressing my cheek softly and the ink falling in cascades on the fair skinned parchment. His thumbs trace the outline of my lips and the pen etches aching sighs. His name rolls down my tongue, stealthily. He murmurs kisses along my neck and quickens the pace of his words alike my erratic heartbeats. Fire breathes beneath my skin, and his hands bend it into passion betwixt his words.
I've ventured beyond a poetry now, he says. He calls me a masterpiece like none, entrapped forever in his heart.
My mother had a vanity case full of popping cherries and firework shades. I was afraid of their roars, yet curious sometimes how they were so bold. Before I learnt to speak, I was taught to put finger on my lips, to keep my tongue locked in like the protests hidden in her vanity case.
I grew up afraid of red the most. But it was everywhere I looked; the blood I spilled from biting too hard, keeping the cage closed to the first horror of my period I trudged from, not knowing that it was something so wrong, something so scandalous.
I was taught how to be a woman, painted in sombre browns to blend well with the background. They told me red was for those with deformed thoughts of love and freedom, that red was a curse raging from ages.
I opened the vanity case again that night, and they breathed a sigh of relief. Surprised yet delighted they told me tale of how patriarchy steals colours like the Grinch stole Christmas, that they couldn't steal the red flowing in me so they took away my screams.
I shed subservience of centuries old that night, and woke up a woman, redefined. I proudly wore red, not an act of defiance but an act of acceptance. I became me the next day, a woman bleeding consciousness and power.
letters to my lone companion- ode to the summer anthems me and my jhoola sang
Back when i was as old as the fingers on my tiny palms as the bells echoed and the koels chirruped in approval the smell of the agarbatti emanating from the puja room announced the departure of Sun from the skies now painted in hues of a renaissance painting the women in the household now all seated in a circle discussing about jhoolas they will buy for the homely diety i stood in awe, gazing at the wooden structure that enthralled my heart for the very first time so i run to the oldest patriarch and tug the hem of his shirt and gave him the cutest expression i could muster as his eyes bore into mine he nodded acknowledging my ernest wish as i ran away again into some mindless activity the next year i visit our home my age couldnt be determined by the fingers of single palm and there it stood in the aangan on the rooftop painted as red as Ma's sindoor in full glory my jhoola my only companion in that big house
The song from your lip is a memory, a scream from the forgotten skies the fire on your breath is the scar tissue from a scorned sun; the starlight from a crashing meteor that is marked by life yet carries the scent of death.
The words that fall from your half opened mouth are switch blade knives that cut through the edges of my skin, a whisper that slices through my bone with the force of a sledgehammer.
The story you narrate as the starlight slips in through the blinds is inchoate, as indecisive as the thoughts that run like unchecked rainwater in your mind your face an uncut gem a treasure that I might forever seek but never find.
Some people talk about letting go Like its the easiest thing to do.. Which it is not even close to.. Letting go of someone important can break you in ways that it would take.a life time to fix you.. Or not even them.. You cant love someone enough to let go of them And smile .. Your world will feel like its falling apart. And you can do nothing about it.. Because its you who is doing that to your world.. You are lettting go of the permanent home You had made out of a stupid human. It crushses your hearts.. Kills you from inside. But you still do it.. You want it to stop. You want the falling apart of your world to stop. But you are not strong enough. To do that Especially not alone. You want them by your side.. You want them to hold your hand.. And heal you.. But thats not gonna happen So you watch You watch your world burning to ashes.. As You let go of the most important part of you.. A part without which You would mot survive .. ^_^
Tired or romantic stuffs So writing sad for now....