Wounds That Turned To Wisdom

Credits : This is no dream by Alessio Radice

There was a time when things were different.

At that time, I wasn’t aware how life’d treat me. I was in school when I came home with my first hole. After repressing the pain while I had lunch with my family, I locked myself inside my room and bled for too long.

Then, the next day, I came home with two more holes. One on my upper thigh and the other one on my shoulder. A stinging pain sprout out of them that made my whole body, a wound.

The next day, after returning back home, I left my mother shouting and hustled towards my room while leaving a trail of blood on the white carpet. I slammed my bag on the bed and lifted my shirt in front of the mirror. Half a dozen holes were revealed that dotted my stomach and chest. It was hard, bleeding for hours that day. I needed someone to treat my wounds with gauze. Instead, they were left open. It took half the night to stem the flow of blood and I was exhausted. Excruciating pain was the price of healing.

In the morning my mom made my favorite pancakes for breakfast. I wished she’d have kissed me on the forehead instead of stuffing me with those delicious pancakes.

I returned home that day, more battered than usual, covered with holes from head to toe. I gazed inside my mother’s brown eyes, longing to see the reflection of my holes. Instead, they were filled with every other dilemma our family endured.

I locked my room that day, and stood beside the mirror with blood pit-pattering on the linoleum. The holes looked like tiny flickering tongues. A sucking wound on my back, square between my shoulder blades was hurting me the most. It was too wide, too deep and a gentle touch brought back the memory of my best friend at school. May be that’s why the wound was the worst.

I stood there for too long, dribbling blood on the surface of clean mirror and staring at my face. The taste of loneliness mixed with the sleepless night was bitter. I heard my family talking, my brothers fighting over stupid things. My mother knocked at my room’s door. She waited for an answer but silence was all she could hear while I struggled with my cries, cupping my mouth firmly with both hands. She screamed and called my dad.

I got up, wiped my eyes brutally with one hand while holding a knife in the other. After hiding it under the bed I slammed the door open. My eyes saw fierce expressions on their faces and their lips moved angrily but my ears heard nothing. A shrill sound as if a drill was making a hole in the wood echoed in my head.

After it was all over, I shook my head and locked the door, again. My steps felt heavy as I motioned towards the mirror. The two days old wounds sprang open. Blood spilled out of the crusty scabs that were peeled off.

In the morning, I left the bloodied bed sheets as they were and headed towards school with my head cast towards the ground. I came back that day with more holes but they didn’t hurt that much as they did before. Because, I made dozens of holes that mustered over my torso, to avoid pain from the ones given by others.

“Soon these holes will all turn into scars and they’d be the reminders of how tough I’m“, I thought. The light had started entering inside me, through my wounds.

I bled that day on my bed but the door was wide open. My parents passed by as I lay there, un-noticed, for they had their own monsters to fight with -and I had my own.

“She was not quite what you would call refined.
She was not quite what you would call unrefined.
She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.”

That was the day I promised myself, that I’ll try to fix my daughter’s holes with gauze, made with love and care. But as they say, life is what happens to you while you are busy making ‘plans’.

Every one of us has to unfold one’s own myths.

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This 695 word story is written for Speak Easy. The task this time was to use “There was a time when things were different” as the first line and to give a reference to a photo that was of parrots. I should admit that, while writing this story, my mind started wandering in my own past and when I read my story now, it seems more like my real life story than fiction. I have decided to leave it unchanged, as it reminds me of my ‘fresh’ old wounds.

This story can be an end, or a new beginning of my writing career. I am getting married this coming Friday and life had been hard on me, lately.

Meet you after my wedding ! Miss me and pray for me, Please. Love you all.

Can You See My Fingers Bleed?

I was planning to write poetry or fiction for some challenge today and here I am, sitting, staring at my laptop screen with my vision getting blurred every few seconds. I wipe my eyes with my already damp hands and start staring at the screen again. I feel an urge to hug my laptop right now or kiss it. And I feel an urge to go out for a walk in the woods with my laptop and never come back to my real world.

I have got the best friends, brothers and sisters here with the help of this little box, a machine. Who knew machines would be understanding feelings more than humans, someday ? Technological advancement or Humanity decline ? I know If I’d cry right now, there would be someone sitting right beside their computer ready to embrace me with their words. I know if I’d share my darkest feelings and the most strange emotions there would be people understanding these without judging me.

Unknown people who have no idea who am I and where I belong, what my country, cast and religion is. People who just know that there is some soul out there, craving for their sympathetic words. Craving for the Love that real world failed to give it. Craving for the care that everyone wants, but doesn’t get it. Craving for someone who could listen, just listen to what it had to say. To listen to the rants of a restless soul.

The time I spent crying while laying in the dark, for 20 years is spent writing now. My fingers dance on the keyboard of this very old model, slow laptop and ‘words’ come out along with the silent tears. My tears cried for 20 years and it is time to give them some rest while I let my fingers cry out loud. There is a difference, no one listened to my crying tears but now everyone listens to my bleeding fingers.

No matter how hopeless and depressed my real life is, my virtual life is awesome. I got to understand life, happiness and care –  The strange words which don’t exist in my real life dictionary. In this life, I am not a depressed bipolar soul….I am the queen of my world, my blog ! I walk here with pride, that my real life can’t snatch away from me. This is my world…The people here are my friends…My beloved online community is the best thing I have….And I am grateful for everything this virtual world has offered me.

Words can’t express my gratitude and Love but my tears can. And I know you can see my fingers bleed, while reading my wounded words.

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Linking to Daily Prompt and Dungeon Prompts : Community. Head over to Speak Easy to vote for my story “Waiting for a dead promise” If you like it. Do read and vote for other awesome submissions too.

Waiting For A Dead Promise

Credits : This

It starts with a heavy pinpoint, sharp, deep in the middle of my heart. As I read Mic’s letter, it swells and blooms, licks like fire through my veins.

It’s a cold windy day and I’m at the window table trying to read the first letter he sent me. At least that is what I should be doing but I spend more time watching the dry leaves clattering across the sidewalk.

I sat here daily, for twenty years with a shotgun in hand. That shotgun is replaced by letters now.

He said, “I’d come back to you no matter what happens”.

I promised him, “I’ll wait for you, forever”

It’s growing dark and the streets are already empty. It has been a chilly, depressing day. I could hear howling wind and one long, repeated call — a bird perhaps.

The feeling I felt then, was love underneath, but it was wrapped in something hard and cold and perpetual.

Death.

Death has followed me for 40 years. Death came for my father first, it sputtered him out like a spent candle. I was seven then. 10 years later it took my mother. Everything I ever loved was gone with the tilt and flare of a scented candle against a curtain. Since then, I resolved never to put myself in a situation that could shatter the way my childhood did. The only way to avoid death was to run.

It worked perfectly for nine years until I met Mic. I felt life exuding from him, surging and bright. For a moment I was certain Death must be looking elsewhere. It stirred at my shoulder, tickled my ear, reminded me it was watching, waiting, poised to poison anyone I opened my heart to.

Everyday little letters from Mic, yellow envelopes addressed in green pen, would wait for me. I replied back, I told him about my father, my mother. About Death on my shoulder.

That day, I was woken from a lay-in by a tentative knock at the door. It was Mic. I was overwhelmed, frozen. He dived at me, wrapped his arms around me. My heartbeats were so golden and warm Death didn’t stand a chance.

You can’t keep him… Death whispered, nervous. Run, before it hurts.

It offered me it’s most enthusiastic ‘contrafibularities‘ that could never be defined just as death could never be defined.

I smiled. And said yes to Mic’s proposal. Because I thought Death couldn’t catch either of us if we’d run together.

The shrill call comes again, thin, high, and mournful. What kind of bird calls like that? Something is out there.

The wind is tapping branches against the window. I look out but see nothing. Dusk is falling but the street lamps are not on yet. Then I see a tiny movement right under my window. Something is crouching below the marigold bushes. A hurt bird, perhaps?

After they reported Mic dead, I began to keep the shotgun next to the front door.

I’d sit for hours beside my window table staring outside, thinking that the day he’d return, reeking of decay, I’d run a finger down the barrel of the shotgun, propped beside me.

“Thank you for coming. I waited for you” I’d say.

“I promised.” He’d smile under the bullet hole they would have put through his forehead. Dried blood would flake off of his eyelid when he’d blink.

“I’m not coming with you,” I’d say.

“Death has done us part. Let it join us together once again.” He’d say.

“I have decided to fight against it” I’d tell him.

I drape myself in a warm brown shawl and open the door to see what that thing is.

A small bundle of grey fur, a tiny kitten, hope ? almost lost in the gloom. It meows, a thin, desperate sound.

When I pick it up, it is ice cold and I can feel every vertebrae. It’s nothing but a skeleton. I look out for any scratches or bites, she was safe. I take it into the warmth and give her milk. It opens great green eyes and looks at me. It rumbles in an attempt to purr. After a while it curls up in my lap.

Some people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them, he can’t blame me for breaking mine. Before moving on, for twenty years, with a shotgun in my hand, I sat there and waited, but he never came back.

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Okay I’m in love with the zombie apocalypse, the idea fascinates me so much. I’m sorry if it disgusts you 😉 The story is written about the time when zombies would be somehow sensible, they’d actually remember things rather than just “Brains”.

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More or less 740 words story written for speakeasy. The challenge this time was to use, “I sat there and waited, but he never came back” as the last line and give some kind of reference to  a scene from the British comedy show,  Blackadder the Third. Hope you enjoyed. Click on the badge to see detailed rules and other entries on Tuesday.

I Don’t Need Chicken Pieces….

Source : This

She is stirring Chicken curry in a black stainless steel pot when I see these thin tiny wrinkles on her hands. She pours some of the Gravy with my favorite chicken piece in a white bowl and hands it to me.

“I’ve made your favorite food today” A confused smile captures her beautiful face.

Her eyes fighting with a fear that her daughter might still be angry over last night’s fight and her heart assuring and reassuring her, No she isn’t.

One warm desperate tear flows out of my eye.

I can see my soul that gets up and hugs her passionately leaving my stone-heart body behind.

I take a bite of chicken piece that cuddles up with the tears stuck in my throat and a soothing peace occupies her face.

She puts a glass of water beside my plate leaves the kitchen.

All these years I kept complaining to myself and she kept cooking my favorite dishes. She never understood that I wanted more than my favorite chicken pieces and I never realized that I’ve to tell her that.

Nodding my head upside down wasn’t easy that time but her face glowed with an ethereal shine and my heart swam into the pleasure. The pleasure of watching happiness on her face because of me, for the first time. This time, she didn’t even try to hide it, she ACTUALLY hugged me.

She didn’t realize that all my life, I never ate the pieces I didn’t like.

I’m waiting for the surprises life has to offer after 10 more days.

I wonder how beautiful I’d be looking, wearing my bridal dress on a body in which a stone pumps white blood in the ruptured veins and it spills out on the grave of broken dreams caged in shackles of love and respect for my parents.

I hate chicken curry now and she doesn’t know that.

I wish she could know, ever.

Love, Coffee And Lavender Truffles

Credit:: THIS

“I’ve spent years chasing the tail of my darkness; the same darkness that has once again blurred my vision”, Harry thought, as he lay the phone in its cradle. He’d been expecting this news in quite the same way you expect winter to follow autumn. But just as you can never prepare yourself for bone-chilling winds, you can never prepare your heart for the loss. Poor Ron. His voice had been shaking as he gave Harry the news that Hermione was gone.

Harry cupped his mug of coffee in both hands and sunk into the chair trying to distract his thoughts.The warmth of coffee mug seeped into his fingers as he clutched it and gazed at the deep brown liquid. He wished Ginny had made this coffee. She always had a way of choosing just the right amount of ground coffee beans to use. Since Ginny died after thirty years of passing out from Hogwarts, he never had been to that coffee shop they used to visit together. The coffee shop smelled of musk with a hint of cinnamon that was too close to Ginny’s essence.

He squinted out the window and caught a glimpse of the sun.  He felt a vague sense of whiplash witnessing a sunny day knowing that the earth travels at thirty kilometers per second in its daily trek around the sun and spins zero point five kilometers around its own axis. He remembered Ginny teasing him with all those magic spells when he would spout the mathematical trivia.

Shifting in his chair, he tried to focus his eyes on  Paul Cézanne’s painting ‘The Card Players’ that Ginny had hung on the wall of their lounge three years ago.  The painting looked like it was drowning as his tears welled.  His mind kept straying back to Ron’s call.

Hermione. Her presence on the planet had always been enough for him; it didn’t matter that they weren’t together. They spent her birthdays together every year and he had fulfilled her every wish silently in the form of birthday gifts. Six years in Hogwarts and six birthdays, one year for every day it takes the moon to orbit the earth with a speed of 3680 km/hr.

He recalled one of her birthdays when he took her to The Wonderland following the footsteps of Alice. He had allowed himself to swim, just for a few minutes, in the depths of her azure eyes making a straight angle of 180 degrees that day. They wandered there all day meeting the king and queen of hearts, Mother bird, Mary Ann and white rabbit, all her favorite characters and they celebrated her birthday with special lavender truffles that were made of rich dark chocolate infused with lavender and cardamom and some flavors of hot chocolate.

Even though she only glanced over her shoulder when he took her back to Hogwarts, he waited. And hoped, like the forever unknown ‘x’.  But two months later, Hermione and Ron announced their engagement and Harry knew he waited in vain.  He mustered his strength to achieve an escape velocity. With time as he settled into his new trajectory around Ginny, he felt Hermione’s gravitational pull for long.

But now Hermione had succumbed to the cancer that had been wreaking havoc on her for five years. Memories:  that’s all he would have of her now.  Maybe that’s all he ever had.

He pushed his chair away from the table and decided to get ready. He had to meet Miss J. K Rowling to make a quick apology and he was sure that she’d forgive him.

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Note: The characters Harry, Ron and Hermione are JUST characters. I took these names because their background history was already clear to you. You can take them as characters of Harry Potter OR some other people who studied in Hogwarts, choice is your’s but please don’t read this story as a continuity to the Harry Potter stories.

This is my 598 words response to the Speakeasy weekly writing prompt, which is to write a piece in 750 or less words  (1) using “I have spent years chasing the tail of my darkness.” as the first sentence, and (2) make some reference to the art prompt, The Card Players, one of a series of paintings by Paul Cézanne.

The challenge is open to anyone, so if you’re inspired, click the badge below to check out the challenge details!

 

Twinkle Twinkle O’ Little Star

A story dedicated to my family where the number of mentally abnormal children is increasing due to the trend of Cousin marriages. Story is inspired by my cousin, a girl who is 20 year’s old physically but her mind is like a small child’s mind. Scenes pictured here are fictional but the facts discussed are real.

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Image Source : This.

“Colors – red, green and blue mixing with each other. Green color is at the top of red now. Red is busy mixing with blue”

“How can you guarantee that in future your daughter’s children would be normal when her own sister is abnormal?”

Silence – followed by tears.

“Sorry we can’t allow the relationship of my son with your daughter. He will find someone else”

“Colors – Red is at the top now. It has dissolved blue and green in it”

Sound of a slap followed by mournful cries.

“Colors transformed to black . Painful black”

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“She slapped me yesterday, My own sister. I won’t talk to her now. She thinks I can’t feel the pain but it hurts. She is not good and oh the cat finally ate the mouse” She thought to herself and giggled.

Her sister who was siting right beside her, eyes on TV and mind strolling somewhere else glanced at her, giggling. She felt a volcano of love bursting in her heart and a sense of regret mixed with embarrassment seized her.

“What was I thinking while slapping her yesterday? She is innocent, that’s not her fault that no one wants to Marry me” She dragged herself closer to her and kissed her on the cheek softly.

“I am sorry my love. You can’t speak but I know you are angry at me” She hugged her and burst into tears.

“I love my sister, she is so sweet. She loves me so much” She thought to herself while enjoying the cartoons again.

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“A heavy burden on my heart don’t let me sleep at nights”

“What burden Mom?”

“You know sweetheart your sister is a special child. Our society don’t accept her as a normal child. People think she is crazy and she should be in a mental hospital. How can I send my innocent girl to a mental hospital?”

Each tear falling from her Mother’s eyes was dropping in her own heart – her eyes flooded with tears.

“Some things can’t be forgotten and this very thought keep spooking me all the time that What will happen to my daughter when me and your dad will be no more in this world”

“Please don’t Mom. Please stop” She begged her and the room reverberated with the sound of their sobs.

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“Colors – butterflies – stars – lights – children, beautiful children – I want to play”

With this thought she ran towards small children playing in the kids area in a fast food restaurant while her Mom was buying Ice cream for her.

She looked around, her daughter was standing beside some children who were gathered in a corner with expressions of fear and anger on their faces.

She ran towards her. A woman said “I don’t mean to offend you but please make sure she stays home. Our children just got scared”

She grabbed her hand and took her to the car without saying anything, eyes directed downward with embarrassment.

Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes

And she’s gone

Lucy in the sky with diamonds

Music was blending with her sobs.

She put her head on her Mother’s shoulder and spoke in a soft voice, “Ma ! Sor-r-ry”

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Many beautiful special children in colorful dresses were standing on the stage in a circle. She was there too laughing, sitting inside the circle wearing a fancy fish dress. A wheel chair was lying at one corner of the stage with a small cute girl sitting in it.

Hall was filled with people. Parents of special children occupied the front rows.

The girl in the wheel chair spoke:

“We are like a fish in the tank. The sun heats the glass to boiling, setting us on fire. The moon freezes it to ice, trapping us in unbearable cold. Tapping vibrates the glass, tearing at our ears and flesh. It is agonizing and exhilarating and enthralling. Don’t be like the sun and the Moon people. Be like the glass that protects us and like the water that keeps us alive…….We feel joy and pain equally like you feel. Your words and actions hurt us people. Treat us with care. We need your love”

And the hall echoed with the sound of applause. People stood on their chairs, tears shining in their eyes.

“I wish my daughter gets a chance to live a normal life like everyone else here” She thought to herself while wiping her tears.

Image Source : This.

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This 720 words story is written for The Speak Easy Challenge. If you like this story, Don’t forget to come back on Thursday to vote. Click on this image to read other entries and detailed guidelines.

8 Words that should be added in English Dictionary

Harvey Specter Rocks !

I encountered a Facebook page that shares very exquisite German, Greek, French, Latin and Arabic words along with the meanings. Since many new words have been added to the dictionary recently, these beautiful words should have a place there too.

These are the kind of words that we yearn for, while writing prose in English and then come up with a bunch of senseless words giving almost the same meaning.While fighting with my writer’s block I exercised these. Here’s how my exercise came out:

1- La douleur exquise (The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable)

An explanation of abandoned love, broken dreams and unfulfilled wishes in one word.

I can feel a piercing la douleur exquise at a place where my heart is. The pain mixes with my blood and flows through the veins…to my heart. Each pore of my body burns with it but I can’t supplicate for a cure. Love hath no cure.

2- Lalochezia (The emotional relief gained from using abusive or profane language)

Have you felt lalochezia ever ?

I felt lalochezia after half an hour of slapping and punching her in the face but she was standing there, in the same condition as she did before. I felt all my efforts of tearing her apart going in vain. I have to think of another plan to get rid of this freakish scary doll that my wife had brought from the market and placed near my bed.

3- Cafune (Running your fingers through your lover’s hair)

Complete definition of ‘romantic’ in one word.

You lie here, head in my lap and I cafune you. In those moments, clock stops ticking as if it holds it’s breath to listen to our’s. I hold your hand with closed eyes, sensing peaceful embrace of your love and asks myself, “Can life be more beautiful than that?“

4,5- Dormiveglia (The space that stretches between sleeping and waking), Clinomania (excessive desire to stay in bed)

I love this state of neither sleeping nor awoke completely. I often see best dreams in this state. And clinomania ? It’s my evergreen best friend.

I love you even more in dormiveglia. Your tranquilizing whispers “Wake up My Love” drench my soul leaving it thirsty for your touch. I enjoy a peaceful dormiveglia with clinomania everyday till my son comes crying “I have wet my bed again, Mommy!”.

6- Apodyopsis (The act of mentally undressing someone)

Okay that’s completely lame.

He loved her blindly until one day she sat in front of him in the classroom and he got indulged in a little apodyosis. Turned out, She’s a Man !!

7- Jaaneman (Soul of me)

I love this Urdu word. It sounds cheesy if used normally but life feels good with some cheesiness, sometimes.

Here in the East, when some random guy has to flirt with a random girl, he says, “Oye Jaaneman ! Aik Jadu Ki Japhi tu de de” (Hey Jaaneman ! Give me the magical hug) and she often gives him the magical hug with her slippers.

8- Orenda ( A mystical force present in all people that empowers them to effect the world, or to change their own lives)

I have discovered orenda lying deep inside my soul after several hours of mystic imagination. I am going to change the world. “Change your own pajamas first that you are wearing upturned since the morning, huh ! He will change the world” My wife replies with frowns on her forehead.

You can find many more interesting words on this Facebook page. I’d love to know how you use them in your writings.

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**The thoughts in this post are completely mine and no one needs to agree to them. This post is written for Yeah Write Weekly challenge. Click on the badge to see other entries and to vote on Thursday.

Story Of A One-Eared Theif

There was a loud crash in the hallway. My thumping heart missed a beat. By the time I had collected enough gold jewelry while they were still snoring.

My name is Jim and I am a renowned thief. I have earned quite a fame by the name of one-eared man. This is the story of how I lost my ear.

With the idea of taking a break from stealing, I once decided to tuck away in some place afar. I took my belongings and hid in a truck that was leaving for an unknown location. I dozed off and when opened my eyes, I was laying at a place that was alien to me but very beautiful, with greenery all around. Beautiful flowers were smiling and the sun embraced me with its light. Chilled wind tickled me and I started roaming.

Wandering in this beautiful valley, I saw a small house. My thief-nerves gave me an alarm and I headed towards it. I broke in from the rear door and cloaked myself behind the curtains in one of the rooms. The moment I decided to come out, a bulky woman entered the room.

She was wearing a white shining silk dress with white gloves on her hands. Big gold ear-rings were hanging down from her ears and a gold pendant was caressing her neck. The thing that terrified me wasn’t the dress, but the voices she was making. She sat on the bed and started crying hysterically. She was swinging her arms in wide arcs and stretching out her own hair with her hands. The dry skin on her hands was tanned like leather. She was speaking loudly in a language that I wasn’t able to comprehend.

My legs started trembling and I was covered in sweat from head to toe. I was cursing the time when I decided to take a break, when a girl entered the room. She sat beside the woman and put a pot filled with smoke in front of her. Within seconds, the woman’s voices started lowering down gradually. She was calm now.

“We should prepare the lunch” The girl spoke in a creamy voice and the woman nodded her head.

I caught a glimpse of the girl. She was young, wearing a red velvet long dress and her black hair were tied in a pin. She was wearing gold bangles and ear-rings too. I was charmed by her beauty.

The circumstances convinced me that the woman was under a magic spell. After some time my fear was conquered by greed. The luster of gold jewelry they were wearing blind folded me and I decided to leave this house at night along with  jewelry.

“Stealing from two bare handed women can’t be that difficult”, I thought to myself.

I peeked into the hallway. It was dark. The woman’s snores were piercing the silence. I entered the room after making sure that they both are under the influence of deep sleep. I started removing slowly, the gold pendant and then both the gold ear-rings from the woman’s ears. Her ears were thin and brown as coffee beans. After putting them in my bag, I went closer to the girl, an innocent beauty. My hands shivered while removing her bangles and other jewelry.

As I finished, A loud crash in the hallway destroyed the peaceful silence. I ran towards the hallway to stop the sound. My eyes bulged out and a scream was stuck in my throat, as the vision became clear. A gigantic man with black long mustache like tail of an elephant was standing right in front of me.

He came closer and the bag of jewelry fell down from my hand. He grabbed my neck in one hand and my ear in the other. I smelled the scent of death. He pulled out my ear forcefully and with in a moment my ear was in his hand. A burning sensation filled my head. My screams woke up the women. They stood in the doorway with expressions of shock on their faces.

“RETURN THIS” he growled pointing his finger towards the bag. I grabbed the bag, handed it to the girl and ran out of their front door.

That was my last theft, the first unsuccessful one.

That giant man was the women’s son. That woman was sick. And that beautiful girl is my wife now….

Sometimes weirdest things in life turns out to be the best ones and weird people, the best mates !

O’ Moon You Were The Spectator !

O’ Moon you were the spectator

of year that passed by -leaving

cynical ages behind.

Of wounds that were made

which aches and tear apart my soul

are everlasting !

Of broken dreams that scratch

these wounds hard

and the brimming blood

nourishes my heart.

Of wishes unfulfilled that

pricks like thorns,

cuts like a sword; sharp and fine.

Of the rains of my fate which

were destined for someone other’s home.

Of the grave that lies

in a corner of my heart where

un-listened prayers sleep.

Of the un-heard moans and sobs

of my injured heart that

spoke through eyes

alas! no one was there to read.

Of my eternal search inside

myself – The search of self

search of The Divine.

Of the enduring solitude

Of  the withering bliss

in the spring of my life.

O’ Moon you were the spectator

of metamorphosis that de-colorized

my life’s zest from

white to Black and shades of grey.

O’ Moon I am scared

Of the abyss I have to jump in with

open eyes and wide arms but

crying heart and stinging soul

in near future.

O’ Moon be my guest

hold my hand and walk with me

through the vexatious path

towards the ultimate future

where each step pierce the countless

blisters of my jaded soul.

O’ Moon can you endure

my feelings pure?

O’ Moon can you give me

your shoulders to cry on ?

O’ Moon can you bear

the dilemma that is near?

The moon smiled and spoke

words that I am in a habit to hear.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”

And veiled its childlike silver face

underneath the blue clouds

on the limitless sky

where a new year was beginning

just as a ray of hope

rises through melancholy and gloom.

The Speak Easy Challenge.