Goodbye dear lover
It was good while it lasted
The familiar feeling of the end
Once more it will be over
The hurt, pain and anguish of being ripped apart
Once more, the checks and balances will be counted
Were you unfair, or I?
Oh once more we will hurt
And promise ourselves that this is it
It feels harder this time
Shiny, glowing, energetic
With lovely taut legs
And wispy caramel brown hair
looking at her
Your hands all over her
Your lips seeking hers
All that we could have been
Might have been.
I will reclaim-
The colour saffron, for its unreal warmth, for the beautiful heartbroken landscape that it grows in.
My voice, my language. Urdu, Hindi, Sanskrit, Bangla, Punjabi, English. I will remember that all these are my languages. That fanatics cannot take away the richness and beauty of it. It is my power. I will change it, I will transform it, I will learn, I will teach,I will sing,I will express and yes, I will think.
Arches and temples and domes and forts. The Taj Mahal and Khajuraho. You can’t take that away from me.
Dreams. The nightmares are temporary. They will pass like storms, they will stir and shake me up, but dream I will. …
I am uncertain, a little wobbly
Walking on water and then on burning coals
How can I be steady when the ground beneath is shifting
What do I hold on to,
Even my desire to see the sun
Is shrouded by a passing cloud
Be still. Something be still, be certain, be calm,be sure
Because I am not.
I need a place to hide today. Where day turns to night turns to day. Where time and space don’t matter, only I do.
I want words and images to curl up around me, with a warm yellow light. The feeling of watching a film I know I’m going to love, or starting a book and trying to read it so slow…so that it doesn’t end. I want that world to suck me in, to hold me, if only for a little while.
That feeling of savouring something for the first time is so precious. The risk of whether there will be love or indifference. And when there is love, oh it is beautiful, isn’t it? Discovering an author, a poem, a song, a street, a feeling, a conversation… and the underlying fear that it’s going to get over soon. The rain that consumes you now, will become a passing cloud soon. …
Dear old love, I got a glimpse of you again today. Walking down cobbled streets, smelling salty sea air, I remembered the promise you held. A surprise as I turned a corner- the comforting smell of something frying. Unknown alleys and half open curtains. Streets with exotic names. Sloping roofs and old people living in large, sparse homes. Sudden rain. Restored faith in the universe. Wishing, hoping and dreaming.
Words resting on paper come alive. The dream gets a little clearer. Just like in a dream, I am afraid that this too is unreal.
It makes me feel nostalgic for something. I can’t put my finger on it. It fills me with longing, with anticipation that something must happen surely. Fleeting raindrops, once rain, now moist earth and now the intoxicating smell of that earth. What do you hold on to?
I stare at out of the window. It makes me still, makes me dream, makes me listen to it. If only I could be a little like rain…dreaming, wandering, all encompassing, intense.