‘I’ am just ‘You’ away from my glory
I write about you but keep you nameless. For you were a person who covered herself in this eerie shroud of mystery. I write a raunchy plot which will jump about in time.
Here, I write a eulogy.
I gaze at someone I don’t want to see but her sight is irresistible. To catch her glimpse was sheer serendipity. I don’t know much about her. She is a simple person. That’s what they tell me. But when the crowd is dancing to their tunes, I have caught her a few times looking around for me and finally, at me. I’d quickly look away, to save us both the embarrassment. I found someone who steals softly the breath from my lungs, simply by their passing by, someone who sends me into a universe all its own, ethereal-eyed and serene. To return from that universe is not easy, it never will be, but it’s worth it. I resist myself hell many times from speaking but the heart already engulfed in her beauty wants what it wants, because she being a kind of beauty like gentle snowflakes softly falling on a new leaf, fragile to touch but beautiful.
Then, I write for the millions of butterflies that flutter in my stomach.
That Day, She kept smiling while air brushed her hair with a gentle touch and wind started smelling like daffodils. I was scared to hold her in my arms as people were looking at us shamelessly and calling both of us shameless. But, when was the last time love got scared. I kept holding to her and rolled my fingers behind her ear.
I write about the night,
The night is cold. “A bit of heaviness and people everywhere. The grass is wet with dew, which reminds me of you. I often think of you when the world is sleeping.” The silence inside us is intimate with a greater silence both of us share. On these cold shivering nights, memories down the lane vividly resurfaces, making you pour all your feelings on a piece of paper. I ponder, speculate, and fantasize. There must be a universe where I win against my demons and in that reality, our last kiss isn’t at the station. A reality where we make it. We not only made efforts but understood each other. I can hug her and call her mine and all she does is smile and crack those lame puns.
I write for my fondness of goodbyes.
We are a cohort of heartbroken people. Somewhere down the line all of us have been wronged or we have wronged someone. What is plaintive is the fact that this grief defines what character we are going to play. Even that is subjected to change, we witness the demolition of oneself multiple times but, as the phoenix rises from the ashes so do we.
“Hasil hui manzil toh yaadein banegi , wrna tazurba toh mukammal ho hi gaya”
I looked into her shimmering eyes and I could see it all, the reflection of afternoon sun with sunlight dazzling on her face. It was a sight I had imagined in the desires of poetry.
She was the manifestation of the intricate craft of the almighty. God’s own poetry on beauty. If God were to come down and ask me what’s more beautiful her or Taj, I would have replied “Love”.
I saw myself in her eyes, my reflection, replete with love and my heart whispered. “At last! You found yourself, away from the treacherous eyes of the world, this is you and you my friend are loved.” I found solace in me. I found myself while looking for her and met the most beautiful person who loved love – MYSELF.
Written by K. Divyendra N. Sai for Metamorphose
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