What have I become?
22th September, 2018.
Dear Stranger,
Can I tell you a dirty secret? I have been lusting over women for a while, and I have forgotten the merrymaking of love. The warm touch, the dreamy hug, the infinite kiss, the soothing caress, the long talks about the future and decisions. I have forgotten it all.
I am upset.
With every beginning, an end walks along, and catches up when one least expects it to, and this worries me. The change. I have had changed many skins, and I am tired, Stranger, I am disgusting, in all my beautiful and dreading sense, tired of changes. I hate to shed the mantle of attachment and wear a dress of walls. As much as I want to go with the flow, I can see the end of the waterfall, splashing against my joys, smirking at the idea of how I will fall with the flow, and I, drowning under the undercurrent of pain and sadness.
Notice, my words from here, for they yearn for someone. They answer your question: What have I become?
In a crowd, I see someone. You. The One. Your eyes are the intimidating stars in the dark canvas of my life. You are drunk, and your hair resembles the cobwebs. I do not tell you, for you hate spiders.
You and I bump into each other.
And I warn you with a goodbye. Albeit, a hello is what I want to say. You did not budge.
“Home sweet home,” I muse. You smile a smile of moonlight, whilst we sit under the sunset, talking about the days we could meet once again. Where we don’t reek of alcohol and have doubts in our hearts. Where we push the sun up the sky, and pull it back behind the horizon.
And then, we proceed with a kiss. You, the girl I am suddenly deeply, darkly, dirtily in love. On your lips is a date printed — our next kiss, and I feel that your lips are my home, but now it comes to me, like a stone falling off the zenith of a pyre: you are not a miner. You live amidst the diamonds, under the care of mountains. And I am a coal, living with the rocks of trouble. Another touch and I will ruin your amaranthine beauty.
I scratch away the date, leaving scars, and marks, and wounds all over those muted lips. I lock the doors to my heart, and you finally budge.
Who says: home sweet home?
Under the same sunset, the golden smudged rays dissolve behind the realms of infinity, and I feel her heart sinking, yet there is a sunrise inside me — a hope for tomorrow. Another day, another attempt at falling in love.
But I know where my heart lies. Her. And Her absence is like a poetry on an aloof moon that is amidst the crowd of clouds, a longing desire for the nightlight; and my presence is like the moon, as long as it is there, I cannot look beyond Her light.
Love,
Nitish
Dear Stranger,
Can I tell you a dirty secret? I have been lusting over women for a while, and I have forgotten the merrymaking of love. The warm touch, the dreamy hug, the infinite kiss, the soothing caress, the long talks about the future and decisions. I have forgotten it all.
I am upset.
With every beginning, an end walks along, and catches up when one least expects it to, and this worries me. The change. I have had changed many skins, and I am tired, Stranger, I am disgusting, in all my beautiful and dreading sense, tired of changes. I hate to shed the mantle of attachment and wear a dress of walls. As much as I want to go with the flow, I can see the end of the waterfall, splashing against my joys, smirking at the idea of how I will fall with the flow, and I, drowning under the undercurrent of pain and sadness.
Notice, my words from here, for they yearn for someone. They answer your question: What have I become?
In a crowd, I see someone. You. The One. Your eyes are the intimidating stars in the dark canvas of my life. You are drunk, and your hair resembles the cobwebs. I do not tell you, for you hate spiders.
You and I bump into each other.
And I warn you with a goodbye. Albeit, a hello is what I want to say. You did not budge.
“Home sweet home,” I muse. You smile a smile of moonlight, whilst we sit under the sunset, talking about the days we could meet once again. Where we don’t reek of alcohol and have doubts in our hearts. Where we push the sun up the sky, and pull it back behind the horizon.
And then, we proceed with a kiss. You, the girl I am suddenly deeply, darkly, dirtily in love. On your lips is a date printed — our next kiss, and I feel that your lips are my home, but now it comes to me, like a stone falling off the zenith of a pyre: you are not a miner. You live amidst the diamonds, under the care of mountains. And I am a coal, living with the rocks of trouble. Another touch and I will ruin your amaranthine beauty.
I scratch away the date, leaving scars, and marks, and wounds all over those muted lips. I lock the doors to my heart, and you finally budge.
Who says: home sweet home?
Under the same sunset, the golden smudged rays dissolve behind the realms of infinity, and I feel her heart sinking, yet there is a sunrise inside me — a hope for tomorrow. Another day, another attempt at falling in love.
But I know where my heart lies. Her. And Her absence is like a poetry on an aloof moon that is amidst the crowd of clouds, a longing desire for the nightlight; and my presence is like the moon, as long as it is there, I cannot look beyond Her light.
Love,
Nitish
Comments
Post a Comment