I’m a silhouette. A suggestion; hint of what could be. Battle of light and darkness. A confusion. Visible and invisible. Hollowness that sops up everything.
I hide behind the cozy curtains of their voices.
Every once in a while
The silent wind comes to ruffle them up -
I grab on to the helms ,
Of the noisy curtains
Desperately – holding on to dear life.
To prevent from spilling it all out there,
In the open.
A single, tiny drop
Fought through the seams of the clouds
Blanketing the skies;
Eager to explore the world.
Of all places
She landed on my cheek,
Asking me to let go
I had bottled up
Footsteps. A dire wail.
Who knew that her life was never going to be the same again? Well, there are some things that cannot be avoided, no matter how hard one tries. Some would call it fate. She would rather call it her bad luck. She ran with all that she had it in her, she wanted to be of help. But what “fate” had in store for her was something… what do you call it? Not gory – there was no blood involved. She went to the room – the source of all the screams. Surprisingly, the people were not crowding around the door step. That should have been her first clue. But as usual,she ignored the obvious. She reached the room, looked in and noticed half of a shawl from the ceiling and people trying to revive the poor soul on the bed. The poor soul’s face – a rebellion. Frowning - refusing to breathe.
One look, and it ruined her. For life. Every face that she saw juxtaposed to the poor soul’s contorted face. The ceiling fans became The-ones -that-shall not-be-named. Sleep evaded her the way a seductress would her lover. Nothing had prepared her for this.
Footsteps. A dire wail.
The tattoo of her soul.
I feel its presence all the time, wherever I go. Even while sleeping, I am aware of its presence – hovering over me; watching me. I can never really ignore it. I may laugh and joke around, make myself busy – but the moment I’m left to fend for myself, there it is in the corner, silently observing me with those wary eyes. I can do anything and everything I know to make it go away, but does it? does it really? Of course it doesn’t it. It may definitely seem to be gone. But then how is it that I’m still aware of its presence? Invisible presence.
In the end, I just give in and let it take over me – engulf me. Possess me – so much to the point that you can’t differentiate between me and it. It becomes a part of me, and I become it. So far, I’ve been lucky enough to come back; to detach myself from it. Bruised, but whole.
The question is: how long will this go on, before I decide that enough is enough? That giving in is so much easier and less energy-consuming, than trying to withstand it?
Ever since I was in school, there was one thing that I absolutely dreaded – being alone. I could handle being grounded, being in the black book of my teachers and my parents, but being alone – to the point that , having a meal by myself was unfathomable. And along with this “phobia” there is another problem that I have – I am stuck up. Wherever I go, I need familiar people around. It is almost disgusting. Now that I am in a new place I have started to break my shell bit by bit.
I go for walks alone. Scary, but yea. I still do catch myself thinking (read worrying) about what people would think about me walking alone. Yeah I know. Stupid. I haven’t evolved enough to have meals by myself. But I’m getting there. I know it sounds crazy, but I have decided not to have meals with the same set of people twice a day. I don’t know if this is getting a bit out of hand but, this my way of forcing myself to grow up. It’s high time. I just hope, this is not just the Hyderabad effect.
You would be amazed by the number of people here in EFL-U who are absolutely and completely comfortable by themselves. It’s amazing. Right now, I can’t wait to get there. That place where I won’t have to care about what anyone thinks of me; where I can be alone and happy.
I hope that place is not very far away.
I am a goner when it comes to love poems. The good ones. Some of them actually make me weepy. So, one day me and my friend decided to have something of “DEAD POETS SOCIETY” thing in the college Library. She fished out one old dusty thick book titled American Poetry. It must be at least 80 years old. Anyway while thumbing through e. e. cummings and other poets, we came across Robert Frost’s The Telephone. Please take a minute to read this poem please. This article would sound like Greek and Latin, if you don’t know what exactly I am talking about. You can read the poem here.
Right. So read the ending of the poem? It goes like this:
Or did you say–
Someone said ‘Come’–I heard it as I bowed.”
“I may have thought as much, but not aloud.”
“Well, so I came.”
Isn’t this so filmy? I could totally picture the scene: It’s raining and the heroine is long lost in thought staring at the street with a cup of coffee in her hands hair, when suddenly the door bell rings and when she opens the door and it’s – I’ll give you three choices: a) George Clooney b) Leonardo di Caprio c) Heath Ledger – the hero with a sexy smile on his face leaning on the door frame saying : ” I thought you missed me so I came” . I could totally picture this in my head and I fell in love with the poem.
So do you love love poems? If so, which one? Let me know. I would love to read them.
Oh. You should totally check out e. e. cummings. This is my FAVOURITE cummings quote:
Love is the little thickness that makes a coin.
P.S: The upcoming exam is on American Literature – hence this post.