In The Bus

Summer descended upon her and sank its searing claws into her brain, fracturing the tender connections between her several and swirling thoughts. She squinted against the shard of light that streamed through the dusty, blotched glass pane. Had she been reposing in an air-conditioned, neutrally toned room that was scrubbed and vacuumed and polished and mopped to a degree of pristine perfection, would her mind have been a tad bit less cluttered? Had she not been rocking to the blithe rhythms of this ancient bus, one that was in effect, a furnace on wheels, would some clarity have graced her musings again? Continue reading

Exalted

“The Moon sings to me, and sends me glowing pillows carrying sugar-cube dreams for my heart.”

I proclaim to myself. Yet, what I see as unassailable actuality is, in fact,  merely an optative reverie.

Spread across the ominous sky- it’s colors never dark enough to be black, and never a shade even remotely as discernible as the most treacherous indigo- are the sprightly stars, amused at the austerity of their own mother fabric, the vast sky that has cradled them since time was an infant.

Starry Night Over the Rhone by Van Gogh.jpg

They know my dreams, and they know yours. Perhaps their delight arises from the knowledge that they’re a part of all those dreams, and the ones our minds spin into a gossamer cocoon of repose to screen ourselves from the overwhelming heat of the sun, right when it reigns over us diminutives.

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Crystal And Clear

It seems as if just yesterday, the world was a benevolent place. To dream was to realize, and thus there existed no encumbering fear.

Fear is now a living entity.

Fear of good as well as bad. The bad is feared for what it is, and the good is feared for its softening touch, its gentle nudge that knocks over the strongest walls baked by betrayal and other obsidian encounters- leaving the one behind those walls out in the open, vulnerable in her ephemeral respite. Continue reading

Love Could Be The Most Deceptively Told Truth

One fine day, I woke up and realized something was different. Change had done it’s momentous work, and everything seemed new now, even if only a few things had really fallen into the sphere of it’s impact- the rest remaining untouched in their objective selves, but suddenly new in my eyes. So what had flipped?

As I stepped out of my home, I saw the same daze on everyone else’s face that I had in the mirror that morning. We were all in awe, happy even, yet slightly unnerved as we stood in the aftermath of this  transition.

Thankfully, hindsight cleanses all lenses. And now I know what it was that had spun around, our entire world.

Love was gone.

All those songs, films and books disappeared. Nobody spoke of the soulmate each one of us was to inevitably find. No one talked about a prince charming or fair maiden. Nobody pined after unrequited passion.

Now, you wonder, did the world crumble to pieces, or perhaps, non-existence? Did people die of isolation?

Of course not.

Because here’s the thing, love never disappeared. It can’t, I suppose, as long as we’re around. But the ideas and conceptions of it did- for good.

Like a horizon, that you chase and never reach, only to realize it’s not a destination. There will be distance, but there has to be no despair. It’ll be all around you. Dark and silent. Efflorescent with beatific sunshine of dawn. It’s presence touching everything and everyone, intangible , but perceivable.

I look around and I see content faces- anxious, no more, for losing something that was never meant to be possessed. Unshackled from expectations. Free.