Aurora

The tender youthful ocean, mellow and wan, passing through the vicissitudes of passion and toiling with an unmirthful poignant growl, loftily rising in fainéant formation of a sharp, caustic tide – a transformation unwonted, grave in contrast to the tinsel shades of the incipient skyline as they met in mergence at the horizon. The fine granules of sand on the now deserted beach still felt warm from the heat of a dusky evening sun.

The woman, she sat there, a picture of quaint perfection but with much conflict at heart. Her life, like the convergence at shore of paradoxical wavelengths. Much had transpired, moments to live unforgettable, that she hoped with time would be withered away in tranquility by the gentle hush of a wave.

Yearning for that fortuitous feather like touch, hope tingling amidst angst, unsure of what was once vied, each tear embedded beneath the water, in the sand – evanishing transience.

The last rays of the sun streaking the realm of the ken over the jagged rocks beyond the water, far beyond, through the burgeoning twilight – in brilliance fugacious.

What tomorrow might bring is but always a surprise. The impressions left behind washed – a path anew to walk on, ahead, away. The morrow is, afterall, another day – a day to kiss off that mask she wore, to face them all with clairsentient view, to embrace the life she never lived to learn and love. The waves’ gentle caress against her delicate, effete feet wouldn’t stop her as she withdrew, stood up and trudged forward – the closure of a long chapter in endeavour of a new beginning, one to never bring back within the bounds of the future, the past, but leave crumbling and deliquesced on the coast of yesterday.

(By ancient Roman mythology, Aurora was the goddess of dawn.)

Ricochet

Much as I believed it to be all over, a hopeful star that lead me on, out and away from the overwrought wreck that I was, or so I thought. For you, I know, I hold no more of what I did or what I could have. Futility lead me on. Many a tear I may have shed on those everlasting sleepless nights, but I do now know for sure that at the end of it all, you mean no more than you once, long ago, did – a time that seems to figure in an epoch different. What it has been for you, I do not know and you do not seem to allow. Words fail me. You leave me plain dumbstruck not knowing whether taking a step forward would be inappropriate encroachment. Incomprehensive, speechless, bearing no locus, I feel but ludicrous.

The love, the care can never fade my dear and it isn’t that I would allow the first thought of it. You may not be my world but certainly shall always be a part. Of you, I worry many a day and manage you do to still hurt, to still glisten my eye with unshed tears and beat that little that is left of me. Am I not worthy enough to deserve a better answer?

I wonder now why I even stay. It wouldn’t take long to walk away, leave you behind with  them broken pieces, to have you pick them up on your own and figure for yourself what fits where. Sadly, I wasn’t born inhuman – virtuous I have been and otherwise, I cannot.

As the hurt of one wound seems to heal, the other now looms large as painful, each itching sting a stark reminder of my blindness. It doesn’t matter that no ordinary person would stand by but in the affirmative I say, I shall. In your present temperament, you must think me a fool but someday when sense comes knocking on your door, realization will strike you hard with reality. As they say, the truth, it always hurts.

And then I hope, when unknown, you would turn around and positively assert, with that innocently genuine smile, acceptance of the past, as you head out your way and I will mine.

Goodbye for the present, my dear one, for my presence or absence doth make but any difference.

Spirited Sally

One of many dull afternoons, where the much laden clouds, harbingers of rain long awaited, like a sea of woes, brought upon me a low sense of melancholy. Try, as I did, to rid my memory of moments stashed away never to throw – hard as it was, the shades of grey seemed to resonate and reflect, seemed to glare, from angles all along unnoticed.

The rain, it fell, its first tender droplets like the gentle kiss of a young child. Its soft caress had powers within reaching beyond, that I had but yet realized. To let yourself go, to open your arms, to sway a little to the rain dance can, and from true experience I say, genuinely wash away the frequent spells of anguish that furrow thy brow, those that seem to cling but strongly with and without love.

Soaked and drenched to the bone, as I was, and yet each step forward stepping slightly into those shallow puddles, on to a long promenade, the ripples my feet caused seemed to reverberate how slowly but surely it was all going away – the wounds of a hurt unhealed seemed to be being soothed and languidly drying away.

Much time spent wont in abandon’s abandon, that shroud, now slipping past, let me feel again the raison d’etre.

The mild colours of a faint rainbow shone yonder and from it I saw an array of hope, a promise that tomorrow held wrapped, invisible yet blossoming – the silver lining at the end of a dark cloud, the much needed respite after a thunderstorm, the ability to sweep out the broken pieces without picking them up and to walk on.

Maybe somewhere down the lane, I will find that yellow brick road to lead me on a path to where my heart lies for the journey, it never ends.

La vie

The potpourri like simplistic concoction of words that, when put together, in proverbial form, is much dismissed and contemned by us as a bouquet of axiomatic precepts, that only certain scenarios bring to you why and what they really mean.

Dishing out a smorgasbord-like array of situations, much different in its levels of palatability, the value we impute to all, from people to the inanimate, assume a very different standing. It may not be just through those many happy moments which though more likely than uncommon are quite inevitably shared in much vivacious joviality, but there comes a time when a shoulder to cry on is what you long for more than anything else. And it is during times like these when the reality of the meaning that others interpolate against your person comes to fore. Like many a passing cloud, we meet people, some acquaintances, some friends but among them is a further distinction of the genuine and not, of those would stand by and wouldn’t.

Are there a fixed set of applicable norms as to one’s relationships? A fine thinker of grandiose refinement might put together a theoretical thesis on how, why and what we are and should be. But isn’t that being a little too impassionate, inhuman? For afterall, the natural human tendencies don’t exactly function by a rulebook. There is so much heart and emotion in every action, every event, every happening, every love, every heartbreak that would take much endurance and more than many lifetimes to begin to decipher.

A plain, simple misunderstanding is not reason enough to pass value judgments and discuss one dear to you as anyone but he.

Live, love, forgive and forget for each new day is a new beginning, one afresh for you to paint your reality – of strokes gentle yet bold. It may be that some preferences didn’t work out favourably but behind each action is some fundamental reason that will sketch your tomorrow in tones more pleasant, heart warming and with much love. For after all, c’est la vie.  

Winter moonlight

Somewhere amidst this insipid aridity, trying to bridge the bottomless waterway that would otherwise in time consume her soul, to more than merely stay afloat, the pursuit of such strength to get across, to cherish the idle solitude where the faint shadow of the rainbow arrayed a glimmer of hope, the serene surrounds brought to her a new apprehension of reality.

Battling with her mind and heart and the reluctant knowledge of the existence of no other viable justification and after much groping and scrabbling in the dark, around the dead end of this much acquainted cul-de-sac, which unfrequented by most, she realized the walk back would be in absolute solitary loneness while trying to get back on with the hustle and bustle, in track with them many strangers - a much vapid option.

Each step brought back to her little moments, incoherent in the harmony of order, but quaint and quintessential like the many bric-a-brac that grace the aristocratic baroque. To admire and revel in each one of them and with unshed tears, now flowing with much undesirable spontaneity to favour her tremulous turmoil and slowly but hesitantly, for the will to let go had let gone, pushing them away, and each resonating step resounding in a million echoes of the past telling a story of the future that would not be, caused emotions that were quicksanding her. Lost to her was all the resolve with which she naively believed to make the insurmountable preposterity possible.

Confined with herself, with the incarcerated ennui, there she sits, beneath the willow as she weeps gingerly, and each tear glistens, with a shimmer of grey, by the shine of the winter moonlight. 

Eternelle evanescence

Through acrid days and arbid nights, thoughts of you fail to dissolve, fail to fade. What is it that you have been, are or done that maketh you one but indispensable? I writhe, I wallow, I cringe. Had you been a little less, my task, my burden would be much lighter. Or may be that you aren’t is the reason why it all did start.

Is it too much that I ask for? Too hard to give?

Wandering through an arbour too good to be, one today I cannot reach for the way is winded, the way is long and I am by far wholly and unconditionally lost and all I can is try be but strong.

The song of your being brings a tear to my eye and as each note transcends, and it traces its way down a mite, I struggle to evade thoughts that refuse to wane.

What we were and what we are today, like spring to autumn, so stark a change, that with angst I hope, all but in vain, for it to be a dream not meant to be.

It fails me to comprehend where all of this may lead, but this one thing I can assure – for you, there, I will always be. 

Chagrin de l’amour

The ravaging upsurge of the tide rose high and the pleasant tone of the breeze turned many a tune sharper. Dusk was setting in and it seemed like nature was casting her the signal to leave the abode of lighthearted insouciance she seemed to be engulfed in. Yet there she stood, calm and unfazed, oblivious to the world around her. Her stature clearly masked the feelings of her tormented soul. Life had dealt out the worst hand of cards and she didn't really play them well. Incomprehensive as to why it had to be her and no other, succumbing most often to these thoughts that dragged her to a complete state of nihilism, for hitherto was no such precedent. Portraying amazing sangfroid without but cringing and crumbling within. Was there a tip-off, a cue she was missing? If so, why would the communiqué of negative tidings need be sent with the intention of pulling at her hearts strings? Why fiddle with certain ingenuous pleasures of life? Was she not human after all? 

She was not bitter or querulous or disgruntled but only highly disconcerted. Every iota of ardour and altruistic affability dissolved from her effusive being as those thoughts got the better of her. Expression failed her and contemplation and inexpressible silence were her only soul mates from whom she sought solitude.

It was quite unlike her usual restricting and cautious self to let her guard down to someone who could well be termed a perfect stranger. And yet, she did. Why? I guess she followed her heart’s presentiment. He seemed the perfect man - genteel and kind with a weirdly interesting sense of humour and astonishingly attractive. Any girl in her right senses would have given him a second look with awe. So did she. Circumstances brought them together and a mere quaint acquaintance turned to a dear friendship which seemed to progress to a certain higher degree. Or did it? They did grow very close and she considered him the very equivalent of her own flesh and bone. It didn't seem that there were feelings to the contrary from his manner either. Well, one thing to learn - don't ever take such things for granted!

Only an ambiguous passage of time upon which a confrontation was struck led to the stark truth being realized. There really was nothing. Of course! How could she have been so blind and let her imagination run wild?!

The idiocy in his claims that not every action needed a positive ulterior motive and the dearth of sensitivity to the earnest confession, that required more than mere intrepid courage, she made were all too hard to take within the short span of time which fate willed it all to happen. It soon became the blame game. All the more easier to turn the tables and point fingers at the other accusatorily. We take such pains to earn the love of another, but it hardly takes a few seconds to lose it all and garner an absolutely opposite position in the others life. The hurt of the unfelt wounds would take time to heal. It wasn't just the hurt of being rejected but also that of embarrassment. Could she live with it?

It would be in her best interest to make herself able enough to come out of it as a stronger person. Questions ran through her head ceaselessly about herself. Was there something wrong with her? Had she done something wrong? Was there something lacking in her?

Nobody, and I mean not a soul, is worth any of this trouble. It is true. The natural human proclivity that drives one to another involuntarily steering him/her to do the right thing at the right time would very well pass off as a 'kind gesture'. As unnerving as this may be. It becomes meaningless when the truth is but realized. Emotions will, as it should, go on a roller coaster ride. Whether to feel angry or upset or self-pity or sorry for him. Greiving more would make her the weak hearted one. We have to face it. All cannot be lost. We should pick up the pieces. Move on.

A good friend once said, "Sometimes, some things just don't turn out the way we imagine. What we may dream to be perfect, fate may believe to be otherwise". If anything good has to happen, it will. Somewhere down the line. It really is a sheer waste of time looking out for it. It will not lead to a convergence mid-way. Right now, in all probability, it is just that the traffic is a little too heavy to handle. But its destination is set. You. And while it takes its time to reach you, there ain't no point in trying to settle for a package of lesser value than what is actually in store. No matter how much you convince yourself, that this is probably the perfect one, you would know within your heart of hearts, that it isn't. That zing and surge of energy and excitement, the spark and whatever else that goes with it will only be felt when it actually arrives. Till then. Patience. A true virtue.

The trampled rose must rise from the ashes like the phoenix and make her loss her lesson.

Beholden within the folds of tomorrow lies an intimately secret promise that, with its miraculously mystic hocus-pocus magic, would whip out the maelstrom of yesterday for a convalescent today and an unthinkably adventurous tomorrow filled with love.

(In dedication to the one person who taught me one of many important lessons in life – on the highway of love, you could be led onto a one way street out of which you must find a way to navigate for not everything falls in line with your  wants/needs/desires lest you be beguiled to wander along the same – a friend very dear, who has at times even been much in equivalent of a substitute dad. )