Photograph
You brought me back again
I am sixteen
with fears of hurting others.
Fears of not being good enough.
Fears of losing those I love.
But with you, I am a toddler,
a child, a baby.
No cryptic deep eyes to hide tears,
to hide pain.
No fears of hurting others.
Fears of not being good enough
Fears of losing those I love.
You brought me back again.
I am in my room, enveloped by loneliness,
by the mortal misery of missing someone.
By a widening irreplaceable hole.
But with you,
I am in a small house in India,
with him caressing my cheeks.
The house is now renovated
and another family has moved in.
His time has ended
and he is not around anymore
But with you, he is still here.
And the house is still mine.
And it is free
of loneliness and
the mortal misery of missing someone:
A widening irreplaceable hole.
You brought me back again.
I am rebellious and insensitive.
Carabiner guilt hooked on to my mind
as I send daggers at my parents with words.
But with you
I am at the dinner table with my parents.
I am laughing at my father’s jokes
that were funny during its time.
I am complimenting my mother’s
unparalleled hand in cooking.
I am far from rebellious and insensitive.
No carabiner guilt hooked on to my mind
as I send daggers at my parents with words.
You brought me back again.
I am sixteen
with fears of hurting others.
Fears of not being good enough.
Fears of losing those I love.
But with you,
I am imperfect and flawed and shy
and fearful and wrong and careless
And happy.
And understood.
And wanted and loved and sensitive
and kind and vibrant and cherished,
and happy.
Those times and auras and people
are gone.
But you are still here.
Thank you, for your trips back.
With love,
Mrudani
P.S. When and where will you take me again?