Writhing heart, agony incessant Crushed and wounded; Could it ever mend?
The length and breath of the land I wandered like a nomad for years and years on looking for a skilled surgeon Screaming, 'Do you know anyone who repairs a heart that's broken?'
In the hopeful spring, I began my search Sunshine of the summer quickly vanished The hope started dwindling bit by bit as the trees shed the autumnal leaves Cold winter froze the pinch of hope that had survived...
No healer was in sight, to mend the suff'ring heart
The heart bled on Season after season.. Years after years.. And then, Someone whispered, 'Time is a healer'.
But No! All that time did, was to place sheets after sheets of darkness to cover the wounds The bleeding never ceased...
Until at last the light shined I didn't look far this time.
Healer was here, right within, She taught me to color the pain into beautiful paintings with strokes of knowing, a knowing that the pain can never be wiped. I've drawn paintings after paintings, that I display... A colourful aray for the world to see, the transformation of the pain to paintings.
If our dreams were the stars... _____________________________
That day, as I was strolling by the quiet lane, I saw a lonely wounded fallen star, all alone I couldn't walk past her without showing some concern Guiding star she was of a girl with big brown eyes, The little girl whose dream was to touch the skies. Her heart was leaping with joy, eyes shining bright bouncing and hopping she went with dreams filled in a basket Delighted was the star seeing the happy sight Watching her striding along, confident.
Miles tread past, in the scorching sun The girl with the basket, now a woman Wandering nomad, heart full of confusion She had forgotten why she carried the dreams Not knowing what to do with the basket She threw it in the corner of a crowded market She was one with the crowd in an instant Living a life with mere survival instinct Learnt new trades, with the heart so vacant.
The girl's heart empty, dreams forgotten, lost her guiding star suffered, up in the distant skies her glimmer faded, thousand bruises she bore, She couldn't hold on to the sky any more. Fall was inevitable, said she, with eyes teary. I picked her up gently, took her to the fallen stars sanctuary where her bruises were tended lovingly. For her glimmer to return, longingly now she awaits So she could return to the sky where she belongs.
One fine winter morn, a six year old little girl was seen to be in a hurry. She brushed her sparkly teeth on her own, combed her tangled yet long hair on her own, painstakingly gulped the milk she always loathed. She was in a hurry...to receive her precious gift. Adorning herself with the finest frocks she had, she checked in front of the mirror to reassure her aura and not to forget the wide innocent smile. She slipped on her finest shoes and off she went to her assigned destination - the parking lot, from where she would collect her present. She was standing near the gate with her granny and grandpa like someone awaiting a dear parcel anytime soon. She was all nervous, excited, anxious, happy at the same time. She fumbled with her little fingers and darted her eyes to the end of the road for any sign of her gift. Soon she heard the loud honk of an ambassador car and her joy knew no bound. She let herself thrust upon the road and ran like a madman. She tried to peep into the car through the window and saw her mother beaming at her. Slowly the car opened and out came her mother holding her precious gift - her newborn brother.
Her eyes shone like the glitter of the Aurora. She was eager to touch him, his little fingers, toes, ears, eyes, head. She wanted to hold him and swing him like mothers do in films and soap operas her granny used to watch. But she waited patiently for her mother to settle down and gasp for air. She knew this was her present forever. The most precious gift she could get.