On her 30th birthday, Ki woke up a little late before her even realizing it, she was standing next to the old closet in her room. She carefully opened it and pulled out a yellow diary. She smiled brightly flipping through the pages as it reminded her of a decade old memories fabricated by love.
Until Ki met Joe at a concert, the melomaniac never perspected she would love someone surplus her music. Joe was a passionate photographer. Sometimes when his love for photography surpassed hers, jealousy befriended her.
At times they would wage war over their difference of opinions but their warmth for fairytale tied them together. Other times they would enact along with the cast as their favourite disney movies played on the screen.
As she rolled over the pages, a photograph rolled over the ceramic floor. That picture was photographed years back in the Disney land when their fondness for fairytale made them fly to California. She dressed with a floor length blue garment fitting her waistline like Cinderella in a ball gown waiting for her prince charming, rainbows painted her heart when he knelt before her. Those words still stir her soul.
" I will be the imperfect me You will be the imperfect you We will be the imperfect us"
She turned the photograph to find a four line fairytale of their love story he inked for her after winning his first word war but losing the love battle. They weren't married then.
"Photophile prince pictured perpetual promise Built by beauteous bridge balanced by beleif Proferred present to philharmonic princess Beauty bewitched blooming a bride "
Her reveries halted when Joe's mom came in with a bouquet of beautiful roses. She dressed herself in his favourite ball gown and knelt before his tomb offering the bouquet, summoning her tears to find the dead promise. Those words still stir her soul.
When I see you, my tongue tintinnabulate And I hear a soul-shattering kaboom Turning everything mute including me I no more hear the pitter-patter of rain Or the rusty rustle of leaves in autumn stain
I no more hear the clutter clatters, The whoosh of the zephyr Or the snap of the twig I feel my cracking knuckles Spotting your soft chuckles But I don't hear them anymore
I never hear your voice You never hear my baffling noise Like a television on a mute mode Like a mime playing emotion note I keep vocalizing in a million silent way Only hoping you will understand some day
Though my efforts broke And my voice choke My heart keeps struggling deep inside To break my shreiking silence
Million words strangled deep Discharge bullets, Dakka Dakka Piercing my heart's ark But yes, I chose this silence I chose to love you muted Because silence has no rejection I could just love you The way my heart knows
When i hear the stories of my people, i get drenched in tears and i hardly take a breath. From everyone i hear the stories of pain, freedom, emotions, torture, brutality, anger and so on. My heart could not bear this pain and it breaks into thousand million pieces and my eyes get swollen sipping a pond of tears. They tell me if we raise our voices against injustice we get killed and only we can say is "Goodbye" every morning nd evening. Our eyes have become dry , now we shed dry tears of pain and anger. Sometimes they ask me what according to you is Normal for a Kashmiri, i reply " Being locked in a cage and claiming world the birds are free to move". People come to me and i could sense them sad and mourning inside, being fearful of getting bullets they keep their anger for them buried in their hearts far away from people around. So i have chosen this place where i can write my heart out , where i can be as loyal and true as i m inside out. I will be true to myself, to my Kashmir, and to each one reading here.
Beauty is upon you, like the pearls of light decorating the lonely night, Beauty is upon you, like the blooming sunflowers in scorching summer days, Beauty is upon you, like the tranquil silence that descends after the death of the day, Beauty is upon you, like the lively fluttering butterfly after days of being in a cocoon, Beauty is upon you, like the scars of the moon that illuminates the darkling night sky, Beauty is upon you, like the first rays of the sun that touches you on days you don't feel like waking up, Beauty is upon you, like the first steps of a toddler getting up everytime after a wounded fall, Beauty is upon you, like a gentle snowflake on a wintry day that melts down your soul's sorrows, Beauty is upon you, just in the way you are, just in the way you talk, just in the way you smile, breathe and exist.
Call me wind if you do please, but don't seek me for I don't stop anywhere, you can neither see nor touch me, I don't have a destination for I'm a wanderer in this vast ceiling of blue sky. Ask the swaying seeds of the dandelions, ask the moving clouds holding back tears, ask the old hills windswept by my fragrant breeze, ask the swaying leaves of the gulmohar tree, ask the albatrosses that soar till they meet the horizons, ask them all and they'll lead you to me. People despise me on a wintry day and and on hot summers, I'm a welcome guest. Yes, I'm the gentle wind.