To Love

To my love,

I love the way you look at me. Your eyes talk to me about love and about us. Your eyes are brimming with stories - stories about our beautiful tomorrows that await me.

Your eyes exude warmth and promises. The warmth it showers weaves a cocoon of your love around me. It makes me feel at home. It makes me want to stay in this warm cocoon forever.

I can see love in your eyes. I can also feel how hard they are trying to assure me of your love. It feels as if your eyes are mouthing ‘I really love you, Believe me please’. The effort is so palpable. Time and again, I have wished that for once, they would not mouth what they invariably would. It makes me want to look away. It makes me want to look within.

Every time I look into your eyes, I question myself. It makes me question my presence. I wonder if I really deserve so much love. It makes me feel unworthy. It makes me feel unjust, unable to reciprocate the love and warmth that you shower on me. It makes me realize that I am falling short. Your eyes not only mouth your assurances but also mirror my insecurities. It shows me my reflection which makes me cringe. I badly want to give you what you duly deserve, nothing less. I want to give all of myself.

I want to love you. I want to cherish you. But I am unable to. The fear of losing control over my emotions makes it hard. I am afraid to become vulnerable. I am afraid to experience the emotions which I never thought I was capable of. I am scared to lower my guards.

I want to take a step ahead and dig my face into your sweaty chest. I want to leave behind my inhibitions and love you with all I have. I want to bear my soul to you.

I want to be able to love you like you do.

While I begin my journey from me to you, wish me luck!

-         

      Yours Always

Silencing the soul

It took a leap into the air to see what I saw....How things have changed! How I have changed!                                                                     

I don’t recollect when it all started. When did the opinions and perceptions of others started weighing more than mine. What I want hardly matters to those others. But the more scary part is that I am walking towards becoming those others. I have never done this before. It hurts to come to terms with what I have brought onto myself.

Somewhere down the road, I lost my way eventually disowning my own feelings and emotions. I have left the safe shores of my self assured soul diving into the unexplored waters of unknown emotions. The trashy waves are new to me. They have all the strength in the world to carry me wherever they want. It feels like I have dived into this ice cold water and am trying to scream in the face of water all around me. And all that comes out of my mouth is my repressed somethings.

Something or everything- it hardly matters. When it is not heard, it does not exist. I am alienating myself, leaving behind an orphan; an orphan who is incapable of surviving alone. It shall die if not heard. Its very existence will be wiped off in retrospect from the time-line. As if it never existed. How unfortunate it would be to be but not exist at all.

It is emotionally wrenching to live in conflict, especially when you are capable of putting up a fight. But you are forced to stay put. Nothing is more heart breaking than to lose a battle without fighting. My silences are drowning my yearning to live, to breathe. I am slowly becoming another person- a stranger to my own self.

I want to fight. I want to speak and express. I am capable of opinions. They deserve to be heard. I want them to be heard and accepted without any verdict. I do not grant anyone the liberty of showering uncalled verdicts. I crave acceptance and love.

The Pain of living

Sometimes I wish the pain did not exist. Sometimes I wish our heart could be immune to emotional upheavels. I wish it would hurt a little less than the last time.

I wish those painful pasts and the those hurtful memories could leave me forever. They have created claustrophobic webs around me. It pains to even breathe. I wish those memories could leave me someday. I wish that as my deepest thoughts leave the dark safe world of my soul through my pen onto the paper, they would leave me forever.

A Short something

Whirl!! it went over my head. I lurched to look at the sky. And there it was, the tiny white bird. Had it not been for the noise, the white something would not have got my attention. I used to love air planes. They made me smile. Every evening on a Sunday, daddy used to take me to the narrow by lanes near the church where the old airport stood. The street was narrow and there wasn’t enough space along the road to park Daddy’s bicycle. And there were cars wheezing around. So, he used to drag the bicycle with me sitting on the front seat to the small shop at the corner of the bylane. The shop was closed and the roof of the verandah was completely broken. With the bicycle parked in the abandoned verandah he would help me get down from the bicycle. Then we would park ourselves on the broken porch readying for the beautiful display of airplane show. We used to see all sorts of air planes- big and small ferry in and out. They seemed to be flying out of a box nearby. Daddy told me it is their home nearby. That is where they come to after a tiring flying day. We used to spend the entire evening gazing at the sky. As the sky darkened we would see the planes flying with blinking lights. It looked majestic - the twinkling somethings wheezing around in the sky. They seemed determined to go where they wanted. I used to ask Daddy when could we fly with them. And he used to answer ‘very soon’. As the street started immersing in darkness, Daddy would take out the small torch he carried. There were no street lights on the road. Then he would tie the torch on the handle of the bicycle with the sturdy rubber band, which maa used to tie her hair. He had told me that Maa had gone very far away. I used to wonder where she had gone. She had been so sick that day. And suddenly one day when I came back from school, she was gone. Daddy used to say she went to stay with my granny since she was getting old. With his nearly perished chappals Daddy would pedal me home. The evenings would end with eating roasted peanuts from the small guy standing near the corner of our house.

‘Mumma, when shall we reach home?’ I was jolted back to my world. My 2 year old son was nudging my skirt. I looked around. The warmth of my daddy’s eyes was nowhere to be seen. I craved for the peace and refuge. My yearning was met with the cold white walls of the airport. I looked down at the urn tied with red cloth at its mouth sitting on my lap.

‘We are finally making that trip Daddy’, I said as uninhibited tears poured out from my eyes.