The Red Gift

There it was, in the open, lying, in front of his blue gate, on a golden box covered with a red silk cloth. A simple yellow stick note slipped under the box. The light from the full moon was making the box and its content glitter. All that was glittering wasn’t gold but was far more precious than everything he ever possessed.

He never knew there would come a day where something that he has chased for so long would be lying at his doorsteps, for his to keep, for a, forever. And now when it was so near, he was afraid to go near it. A surge of sudden fear uproared making him apprehensive, and he felt as if his mere touch would make it vanish away. The disquiet of the night led him to think that all that was happening wasn’t right. Somehow he was questioning himself again and again whether the bestowed gift wasn’t his to behold?

He knew that someone has given up everything to bring it up to him. Someone has crossed oceans and boundaries to serve it to him on a golden box. Someone has given up thyself, for thou were the Thee. The musings of his mind won’t settle down, and they were keeping him away from his long-cherished path.

The zephyr holding the fragrance of what lay in the wrapped cloth, tantalizing his senses, to look beyond his vision. His eyes fell on the stick note, with crabbed writing in red, saying,

“The gift is yours to behold, do what you think fitful.”

The words pierced his soul, subsiding every dilemma of his heart and mind. He sauntered towards the golden gift with the glistening eyes. With trepidation, he picked up the golden box, looking again at the scribbled words, touching them with his fingers and savoring them, giving delight to his soul. And then he unraveled the red cloth, holding the most precious gift of his lifetime, her HEART.

“In your light, I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”  ―  Rumi

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Fernweh

The yellow rain boots,
with layers of mud,
kept going,
in the marshes.
The pale pink dress,
drenched,
snugging to the body,
was moving.
Disheveled long hair,
swaying,
as darkness engulfed
all around,
with the bursting
of grey clouds.
Tired yet alive,
In pain but still moving,
to where,
who knows,
Running,
walking,
limping,
but still,
moving,
in the pursuit of happiness,
Clenching hope,
between her,
pruney fingers,
of,
new dawn.

Fernweh is German word, means an ache to get away and travel to a distant place, a feeling even stronger than wanderlust.It literally translates to “distance-sickness.”. While someone with wanderlust might sit at home and happily fantasize about all the places they might visit, someone with fernweh would feel a deeper sense of longing, a sort of homesickness but for foreign lands.

Where do the broken hearts go?

The rib-cage holding the hearts
from flying away,
In the shadows of darkness.
Otherwise,
where, do you think the broken hearts go?
Dipping in the sorrow,
of the ocean of shed tears,
dissolving the hidden pain.
Where else,
do you think the broken hearts go?
Numbing the emotions,
with sips of moonshine,
they sit on a vacant road.
Otherwise,
where, do you think the broken hearts go?
Sitting by the seaside,
looking into the vastness,
filling the holes
with the salty air.
Where else,
do you think the broken hearts go?
Scribbling on the blank pages,
with verses,
that tear apart.
Otherwise,
where, do you think the broken hearts go?
Strumming the chords,
pouring,
the aching heart,
into the world.
Where else,
do you think the broken hearts go?
Sometimes, they stumble,
and meet,
other broken hearts,
It’s here,
the first healing begins.
Otherwise,
where, do you think the broken hearts go?

Another Rant

Some people are so full of themselves that they deny all the wrongs they have done to others. They won’t accept all the pain and humiliations they have put others through. They still have the guts to say that it’s them who are the victim while all the time they were the real torturers. I never get how people can be so ignorant of the wrongs they do to people like you keep pushing someone to the fence and when that person starts bleeding and start revolting against you, you start behaving like as if it’s their fault that they didn’t see the fence all this time.

I am furious and upset right now, but I am not someone who yell or abuse or throw things at people. The only way I know is to write and vent out my anger here on my blog, which is one of the few places that belong to me. I don’ know whether all this writing will ever take me anywhere, but how can you be sure that it won’t take you to the places you always wanted to see. Life is tricky and unreliable, we all make shitty decisions, we all go through hell at times, but that’s, not the reason that you should make other person’s life a living hell. And the biggest crime is not accepting all the wrong’s you have done to that person. It’s like you knowingly put the knife in someone’s hand, and when they get cut you say, it’s you who was holding it, while the person was still tied to the rope you were holding.

But then every experience teaches you something, something about yourself. Sometimes it comes in the form of a bolt of lightning hitting your head where you get some realization, and you start seeing a different perspective of the situation. You start realizing that it’s not wrong to keep yourself at first in your priority list. It’s not a crime if you make some tough decisions to make yourself happy. Your happiness is important too, people might disagree on that, but let me assure you I have been someone who always tries to make others happy, but only a few like I count those people on my finger, have worked very hard to make me happy. The soul kind off happy, where if death comes to me at this very moment, I will die happy.

PS: If you are reading this, I am sorry for filling your Saturday with my rant. But I had to get it out of my system, and I hope you understand.

PPS: I hope you are having a beautiful weekend.

Parched

In the desert
of arid plains,
the vision gets blurred,
with the hailing
sandstorm.
Sinking feet,
in the dry sand,
distancing,
from the oasis.
Eyes of barren land,
looking out,
for a few drops,
of rain.
The parched
seeks its,
ocean,
in the scorching sun.
Amongst the mosaic,
of dunes,
stood,
his bluest ocean.
But for others,
it is just a,
fountain.

The wolf and the moon

‘The wolves love for the moon has its reasons, what reason, only the wolves heart knew.’

In the silence of the night, it was the wall clock which reminded him of the time. It’s one am now, and from the past one hour, he was busy attending all the birthday calls. But he was still waiting for that one call, and he started rechecking all of his social media accounts. He has unblocked her number, her accounts everywhere in the hope that she will wish him.

You know that feeling when you have everyone around you, your family and best friends except that one person. One person whose smile can make you go weak in your knees, one person who sees you as no one has ever seen you, one person who made your life a brighter place by just being there. And then there you are smiling and laughing, enjoying but yet aching to see that one face, dying to hear that voice one more time. Alas! Life is such that not every birthday wish comes true even if you blow a hundred candles on your 30th birthday. He kept the phone on silent mode and went to sleep.

The morning was holding coldness of the winter, but the warmth of the bright sun was adding sweetness to it. He woke up with few missed calls and a lot of messages on facebook and WhatsApp yet that one message, that one call was missing. He shrugged and laughed at his stupidity. Why was he expecting this miracle? He knew her too well, how stubborn and determined she could turn if she sets her heart to it. And she had set her heart never to bother him again.

He called back a few of his friends while eating yogurt and muesli at breakfast. While he was still eating and talking, he saw unknown number calling. He suddenly cut the call short with his friend. He quickly picked up the new call wishing it to be her. Instead, it was the uber driver calling him to inform that he was waiting in the parking lot. He suddenly picked up his office bag and left the unfinished bowl of the breakfast.

In the cab, he kept thinking about her. Her silly gifts, her midnight birthday wishes and her excitement over his birthday. It’s not that he hadn’t tried forgetting her, but every time he thinks she is fading from his mind, something of her comes back, making all the progress go in drain.

Once he reached office, he switched off his phone and submitted it at the security counter. He was working on a high-security project, and they were not allowed to carry cell phones in work premise. He swiped his card and entered the office, and there were balloons and a birthday card on his desk.
He smiled, and this reminded him of his last birthday, wherewith all of this, there was rose bouquet with a funny note from her. He sighed, the more he tries to run away from her memories, the more she comes closer.

His reverie passed, when one of his colleagues called out his name. People started gathering at his desk and wished him. He promised them a dinner party after office hours. The day passed by quickly. After all, when you are knee-deep in work, time loses its sense. By the time he came out of the office, it was 8 pm, he collected his phone and booked a cab. He told his colleagues that he would join them at the restaurant in an hour. He wanted a few minutes of loneliness, away from the chaos of the world. As he sat, in the cab, he started browsing through his messages, everyone wishing him, his college group calling him names, he chuckled at the bullshit, his friends were still capable of doing.

He browsed some more until he saw that name sitting amongst all, shining like a full moon. His heart skipped a beat, and with shaking hands, he opened the text.

“It’s here again, your special day and in a way mine too. On this special day of yours, I wish an abundance of laughter, happiness, bliss, and love. May your all dreams come true.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe, and when he started, he didn’t know what to do. He re-read it a few times before he realised that this is the way she has always been, not asking but giving, everything of hers to him. And then he knew what he has to do. He asked the cab driver to drop him there only. With a flushed face and broad smile, he dialled her number.

PS: So in continuation to the last fiction story I wrote, here I present the Part 2 , I hope you are not disappointed. For all those who haven’t read the part 1 of the story, please check it here.

Please do share your feedback, it keeps me motivated and helps me to improve as a writer.

Crescent to Full Moon

As darkness engulfs the vacant streets,
I light up myself,
To eat up the delicate shadows,
Of her, fragile body.

She was walking on the pavement, lost in her thoughts, uncared about the drizzle turning into heavy rain. The long wet hair was sticking to her face, and the crocs were squelching on the empty road. A little beam from the nearby lampposts was falling on her left side, and she looked like a crescent moon, awaiting perfection. A deep unsettling feeling has surged inside her. And these fluctuating waves were leading to a simmering pot of fire hidden deep inside her. Why was she feeling so angry? Was it a person or environment, causing her so much trouble. An unpleasant day which started with her losing her black pearl earring in the shower to her nearly getting hit by a car while crossing the road — followed by a stormy discussion with her boss on a new project.

She has given up on people a long time ago, or has she? Was she disguising her expectations from herself? After all, this time did she still believe that people can do things for her, selflessly. Or is just one person from whom her all expectation come rising. But she gave up on him too, a long time ago. And yet here she was feeling broken again because he didn’t reply to her text. She knew he wouldn’t, yet she couldn’t stop her heart from betraying her resolution of never texting him again. How could she, it was his birthday, a date which meant so many things to her. But then it was she who has asked him to leave her alone. She still remembers the night when she cruelly said those words, cutting the last thread of their unnamed relationship. She knew he had blocked her from all the platforms, but she hasn’t done that yet. She didn’t want to close this last gate, what if he wants to talk to her someday and what if when he tries, he couldn’t reach her. Hope against hope of losing or should she say finding herself again in those eyes where the chaos of the world, subsidies. Or maybe she needs to learn the art of walking alone. A tear trickled down her cheek, she smiled wryly and wiped her tear. It’s then she realized her phone was ringing in her raincoat’s pocket. Fumbling she took it out of her pocket. Glistening like a pearl was his name flashing on the screen filled with tiny rain droplets. She looked bemused, and then she smiled, lightning her dim eyes.
Now standing below the lamppost, she was the radiant full moon.

PS: Huhhh… finally after so many unfinished drafts of poems and stories written over last few days, I managed to write this small fiction piece, today. I hope you guys like my attempt. Do share your feedback in comments section.

The Other Side

In the light,
we all shove,
the darkness,
hidden beneath us.
Rays of bright sunshine,
let us forget,
the loneliness
of the moon.
While catching,
the fireflies,
in the jar,
we dismiss their pain.
Enjoying the rains,
from our balcony,
we fail to see,
the drenched ones.
Amongst people,
we ignore,
our sadness,
until the coldness,
of our bed,
hits us.
Looking far away,
at horizon,
we manifest,
union of sky and sea,
While reality says,
their separation,
is for eternity.

A memory for my daddy

Dear Daddy,

On this birthday of yours, I want to unleash one beautiful memory that is part of you and me. I don’t know how much of it you remember now, after all, you have a terrible memory. But somehow as I am growing up in years, my mind wants to hold on to all the precious memories of my past. Unlike other families, we don’t have too many photographs of us. But I have memories that keep me going in difficult times. These memories remind me that I was, I am, and I will always be loved.

So please hold my hand, to walk back into the time when I was so little that you used to carry me in your arms and take me out for the simple pleasures of riding a bike.

The light breeze making my short hair sway, the rustling of our clothes against the wind, and the feeling of flying like a bird. You, me and our weekly Sunday rides, on your black atlas bicycle. The little me sitting in front, on the crossbar and you on the rider’s seat, taking us away from the chaos of the world we inhabited.

The roads awaited us, and we ventured on them as if we both were on a secret mission. The lanes were different each time, but the destination was always the same. The deserted road surrounded by Aravali range with big brickyards on the side, there stood a war memorial. Unbeknownst to many, it was a hidden treasure that you found for our outings. You would sit on one seat, smiling at me, and I would circle the memorial stone reading the names aloud. Sometimes you shared stories about different wars that the soldiers were fighting. You explained to me how the people named on the stone laid their life for the country we all call home. The little mind of mine would not understand everything that you would say, but it realized one thing at that time. The place of our outing is not a regular place, it was as sacred as a holy place.

At other times the two of us would sit in silence, each lost in musings of once mind. The silence taught me that sometimes it’s much more important to feel the same thing rather than having a conversation about it. After all, always talking doesn’t mean we are conversating. In that calmness, I learned to listen to my soul at a young age.

You gave me a precious gift daddy, and here I am merely attempting to preserve the memory of the beautiful experience you gave me. Thank you for the best childhood a child could ever ask for, from a parent.

Happy 64th birthday daddy, I wish good health and blissful days for you, in the years to come.

Love
Your only daughter

Invisibility

Her slow walk alludes,
that she wants to be in disguise,
from the real world.
Wearing a layer,
of invisibility cloak,
preserving herself,
from outwardly tainted injections.
With messy buns,
and subtle colors,
she hides her body,
from the piercing eyes,
of strangers.
A wry smile with long strides,
upholding the deception,
of surging tides.
Sealed lips,
and vacant eyes,
concealing all that’s, inside.
Camouflaged,
with her surroundings,
she buries,
her inner and outer self,
in the dug well,
of her soul.
Invisibility,
until the upheaval,
is what she,

demands
.
.

PS: There are days where I like to become invisible to the people around me. I love it if no one notices my presence or absence. I will just be, me. Surviving my struggles with life without being answerable to anyone.