“For God’s sake, hold your tongue and let me love…”
She was not quite really an ardent devotee of medieval poetry, but today she chanced upon this line in a vernacular novel and was slowly being mesmerized away into the whole poem; as the sugar cube kept disappearing in her unusual afternoon coffee.
“We can die by it, if not live by love,
And if unfit for tombs and hearse
Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;
And if no piece of chronicle we prove,
We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms;
As well a well-wrought urn becomes
The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,
And by these hymns, all shall approve
Us canonized for Love.”
Today was quite a day. No, professionally , she took a complete break from the cacophony of dead monotonous work habits and tiresome glances at the wristwatch or from the weird old man on the crowded return metro ride.
She left her boyfriend a short message and hit the switch off button on her phone. She had been wanting to do so desperately for so long. A few hours of unperturbed solitude, complete renunciation from the crust of mustiness that keeps cornering her soul every minute she lives.
Here she is, resting her temporary contentment against the misty window screen, her unfulfilled temptations trickling down, a few worn-out potted leaves waiting to nurse them as they free fall.
Her coffee gone cold, her poem staring eagerly at her face for a mien of admiration… She was long lost.
“Una Paloma Blanca
I’m just a bird in the sky…
Una Paloma Blanca
Over the mountains I fly…
No one can take my freedom away…”
Her mind was freewheeling elsewhere, loosely hovering around the obscure prospects of rejuvenation , while actually glimpses of her burnt past adhered to her subconscious.
She slowly drifted off to a careless session of self-analysis…
Quite a handful of failed relationships later, even a perfectly sane person begin to doubt oneself. She suddenly felt an upsurge of terribly low self-esteem, with fragments surfacing from nowhere.
“You are a control freak, you know that?”
“You are way too emotional.”
“It was never meant to happen between us. Why are you so immature to understand this simple thing?”
And she started to decipher the codes that define her present indifference towards the delicate things in life.
In between the efforts of changing herself for someone or the other; giving up all shreds of immaturity, childishness, innocence, overflowing emotions… She knew she had left behind her soul, somewhere she didn’t remember; yet she knew her soul was helpless alone engulfed in a mist of possibilities.
She realised she was lost.
Yet she knew not the way right.
She wished to resurrect at any cost.
Yet she dared not a lone night.
They all told her the guys she has dated so far were all shit. Not fit for her. Underneath, she wanted not to but still believed the incompetency lay with her.
The scars were all hers. The hurts her crown of thorns.
Little did she know…
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you”…
She hated loneliness, she dreaded loneliness the most. So she was dating, again. She loved him, she really did, but never for one second let herself feel how much she did. She did no more have the audacity to let herself fly away flourishing vibrant hues, so she stayed calm, cocooned and prepared for the worst this time.
What if had she known the truth? How much insecurity she garnered in herself or how much broken she was actually that if she lost her wings one more time, she will be turning to timeless ashes?
She desperately gasped for a breath of fresh old air, the aura of the Known and Loved self of hers, in her trance.
She failed to notice a small raindrop was feeling the same, for the fear of hitting the ground hard (again?), once it had sophisticated itself enough to forget the name of the rivulet it arose from. Yet, a puddle was there, waiting, adorned by a humble wreath of moss…waiting for the raindrop to fall,
“To catch you when you fall and never let you go…”
A frantic doorbell followed by impatient knocks on the front door woke her up. She touched her wet cheeks and felt the sublime sorrows vaporise in haste.
She heard her name, she was still to gain back her fireclay cloak of indifference.
She opened the door and two arms desperately wrapped around her.
“Are you okay? Why were you doing this?………..” , he went on. She could softly sense the drops of immature emotions of insecurity in his frown, on his lips, within every folds of his anxiety drenched shirt, in the depth of his hazel eyes.
“Thank you”, was all she could murmur, before resting her head on his shoulders and closing her eyes again.