#poemporm

between

wanting people to change

its not a myth the brain stops sleeping through quiet happenings in some other language some no one of us understands secrets of chance a door you can’t deny opening to places you want to go and never tell shushing the mind kills that worm dead splattering its peace a quasar destroying a galaxy to save one star so special to all our tomorrows magnificent darkness its cool waters tease and nip at our toes and gently pulls sand from beneath our feet

i lay dissected in the Marigold fields amidst your promises of “ us ” solitary.waiting.aching

Autumn. It was a rainy day when I crossed the streets where I grew up. A usual day for autumn.

Cold. Wet. Windy.

As I was walking fast through the crowds I recognised their empty faces. Exhausted from the lack of sunshine. Always in a rush. To work. To home. To the next warm place; escaping from the cold.

I was walking with my umbrella down those full streets when I saw a girl standing in the rain at those streets. Her coat heavy from the water. The hat was almost covering her entire face, hiding most of her hair but a few strands were peeking out, covering her eyes. Obviously annoyed with it, she took an umbrella out of her dark brown bag and opened it. Escaping from the rain.

Pink and yellow hearts. That’s what it looked like, her umbrella.

I instantly liked the girl. I don’t know why but she seemed satisfied. She was not drowning in the society. She did not fit in the crowd of blank looking people. She seemed different. Somehow interesting.

I watched her crossing the streets, getting lost in the crowd. Seeing only the pink umbrella with the yellow hearts until the girl and the hearts were fully gone.

The days passed by, the date changed but the weather never did. Every day I saw that girl with the pink and yellow umbrella passing the streets or sitting by the benches. Everyday I thought about talking to her. Maybe  about the umbrella. She always seemed happy and I was wondering what her dreams were, her hobbies, her passion, her eye colours.

I used to make up my own stories about her. Creating a world around this girl. A world she would fit in. I would call her Alice because she always seemed to be in a different one and in this world she did not fit in. She somehow managed to always look satisfied. I enjoyed creating her. Shaping her with my  own mind.

But one day in Fall it was different. As I crossed the streets, tired from school and the lack of sunshine I recognised the pink-with-yellow-hearts-umbrella-girl rushing past me. For the first time I saw her eye colour. It seemed like she was crying. Her umbrella wasn’t shining through the streets and I wondered which dream has been shattered.

She took out her umbrella and walked by. As I turned around to take a glimpse at the nice looking girl crossing the street, I recognised her umbrella flying through the air and hitting the asphalt near the lamppost like a doll that has been thrown by an angry little girl with braids and pink shoes unsatisfied because of her mother who refused to give her candy.

That day in Fall, the pink umbrella with yellow hearts crossed the streets for the last time.

And so did the girl.

the things that bring us pain

and the things we envy

is far thinner

than one can imagine

and we often

blur it

reminded

those men

of incandescent lights

blazing on their temples.

the only way

they could ever

bring me down

was burning their fingers

so they never dared

where i am standing

love and life is all i have.

and this is when

i realise

that love and life

is all one ever needs.

a love that puts you

in a loss of words.

.

.

a love that rips off words

right out of your mouth.

to see through

a mirage,

one does not

require eyes.

one requires