While leaving, she left a postcard
Secretly at doormat of his heart
Years later, he found it
On replying he realised
Address to her heart had changed.
The mirror of present, reflected the past.
Everything was same
Only their roles interchanged.
she always wanted something to be only her’s.
something on which only she’d have rights.
she got it in abundance.
it took her long to recognise.
it was loneliness!
your birth is always on the most unusual time
you’re born seven oceans far and travel round the world
with no passport and visa
you emerges from every single thing i see around
from sun’s rising up to a body breaking down
you’re someone’s outcome of heartbreak
and someone’s cure to heartache
you behold gravity within cause
you give solitary a new life
you’re the beauty which some recite
and that on replay thing in writers mind
you hold power within yourself
which touches us, even without touching
how do you carry heavy words and rhyme them easily
how does your presence make recluse pass happily
how do you uphold someone in their hard times
how do you sustain centuries after your mother dies
there are yet many ‘how do’ questions back in my mind
your name gives me answers
just like the last time
it’s okay not to be okay always.
it’s okay not to be strong always.
it’s okay not to hide your emotions sometimes.
it’s okay to be silent at times.
it’s okay not to always choose the difficult path.
it’s okay not to always give explanation when asked.
it’s okay not to forget the past sometimes.
it’s okay not to carry a fake smile like we do a lot of times.
its okay sometimes to walk alone.
its okay sometimes to keep things to ourselves.
it’s okay sometimes to cry to sleep.
its okay sometimes to realise forever is never out of dreams .
it’s okay not to always match up with the trends.
it’s okay skipping 7-star meal for pani puri at a local stall.
it’s okay sometimes arriving messily and not sassy.
it’s okay writing our feelings down on a paper rather than telling.
wear eyes lenses and perfect fake lashes
try to find love. you’ll get their attention, girl
fake a smile. make a pout.
try to find love. you’ll get boys to like you, girl
lighten your tone or darken it temporarily.
try to find love. you’ll get much attraction, girl
flaunt it and make it curvy.
try to find love. you’ll get lust, girl
be yourself and cherish your deed.
then try to find love. you’ll get the most of it, girl
The call logs which only had his name, now seem to have everyone else’s but not his. From the late night conversation of five hours, now texts exchange for hardly five minutes. From those tight hugs to today, we merely see each other. Promises of never leaving each other, sounds as a bad joke today. Hands which were never alone, fingers which rest upon each other’s now has the most cruel cuts. The future we once planned, ground beneath my feet show no roots to it. Yes we were trapped, trapped by the most hurting yet beautiful thing; Love! It has been always stated that first love is sweet! But the wounds it gave were even more deeper! I tried, so did he. Once? Twice? Oh no, many times! And all the heartbreaks clearly indicated, we weren’t meant to be together. My love for him was genuine and that’s why it kinda hurts to accept the reality that today, we not together. We are not one. He is not mine and I am not his.
Would it be okay if I say breakup means the couple were not in love? But does that also mean that only committed ones love one another? Absolutely not. Two people can feel for each other even if they aren’t together and at the very same a couple could feel nothing for each other even after years of commitment.
Maybe our stars do not match and that’s why we had to apart. But the love we hold will definitely bring us back, tomorrow or a week later or decades later! I will wait. I will wait for him. I will wait for the fortune to turn up, just because these feeling are never fading. We are not one but spiritually we both live together.
My phone still blinks notifications and each time it does I know, it’s not him. Maybe because I never told him how much I feel for him. Or Maybe because he never tried to know this. Or maybe because I’m writing this in my notes and never sending him.
Some hang stockings,
in a hope to receive gifts
Some shivered in cold,
with no stockings on their feet.