The scarf woven in pain,
Around my neck. The gift of my life.
And I unwrap it each day.
To wear it, To live it.
It cuts like a knife.
I let it tug at my skin.
Let it tighten around my nape.
The pain gnawed and I let that shape…
It was my choice though.
I stayed still. I didn’t move.
I didn’t tear it away
From my neck.
I did not scream. I let no one know.
I kept hush. Quiet I lay.
I did not walk out.
So, I do not whine.
I do not fret. Nor accuse.
I do not wail.
For, I did not walk out.
For, I chose to stay.
I forgive you
Or so I try for my sake…
I want to sleep in peace.
And I need to be happy at wake.
I am still so angry.
But this was my first baby step.
This was my first little whim..
To shed one less tear if I wept.
I have said time again,
If I hurt myself, if I do wrong…
I will always forgive myself
Won’t let go of hands, held so long.
I let you go now.
I let you walk away.
I let all the tears and the mistakes
Not let me sway.
I let you start afresh…
Set sail another life and row.
I let you make new mistakes,
But today, I just want to let you go.
I come from a background where we had financial troubles all through our childhood. But I always saw my parents work hard. They worked for the poorer sections of the society. Although they had multiple chances of cheating their way out to a better life they never did it. I am their daughter. I had watched them put aside their problems and appreciate that they (we) had better lives than many. And they helped those who couldn’t help themselves in various ways. I had always been torn between a life of service to the people who needed my help and a life of love with a happy little family.
And when I fell in love, I chose the latter. But I ended up in an unhappy marriage, afraid to walk away. I am still hoping in my heart for the miraculous change in my marriage and at the same time, I know in my head that it is never going to happen. I am not going to bash my husband (though at times, I so wish to 😛 ). Today, I just wish I could go back to the 25 year old me and tell her that I would make the wrong choice. I would end up in a place where I would have sacrificed my urge to serve and that sacrifice would be for nothing. I wish I could take back that decision and go the other way. But, that’s not how it works, does it?
So, here I am, woken up after a whole night of crying, and now sitting at my desk typing away at the forgotten blog. Here I am, typing away, feeling empty and lost inside, feeling useless, feeling defeated, and failed at life.
When I am old and grey
When I stoop low
Take me for a walk,
We will take it slow.
I will smile
through my wrinkles,
I will hold your hands.
And sure, my eyes will twinkle.
Lets sit by the river
And talk a lot.
You just listen,
I will weave the plot.
When I am not looking,
And I will pretend,
I didn’t see.
When we are old and grey…
Ask me on a date,
We will watch the moon
Till its late.
It was just like any other morning. But lighter, as if I did not have the responsibility on my shoulders anymore. I could shrug more easily without anything weighing me down. The sun was as bright, but it did not hurt my eyes anymore. My son was lying on the bed, but I did not feel that urgency to hold him anymore. The clock struck eight, but the clock inside my head had stopped ticking.
It was as if, things still existed exactly the way they did earlier, but I was not a part of those things. It was as if, I was the audience to a play… my part finished. I could now see the whole stage. I could see the whole story.
I once read somewhere, that your life is like a single train journey where the stations are instances from your life. The other passengers are the people you meet in your life. Some get down at the next station. Some travel with you for a while. Some come to sit close beside you, and some sit in the adjacent compartment. But your train journey is yours alone. You are the only one person who reaches the destination.
I had loved the metaphor.
So, here I was at my destination. There was Death, outside the platform, with my name on the placard, smiling at me. It were just a few more steps to him. And I realized, that at that moment, with those few steps left to go, I finally had that perspective. I could tell it was not black or white. I could tell it was worth fighting for. I wish that I knew that it would be over one day, and all the love and pain I had felt is the only luggage I get to carry. So, maybe its a good thing that I felt all that. I remember the overwhelming love I had felt for my son. I remember the tears when I loved my husband a little less everyday. I remember that disappointment and the anger and the helplessness. Its all that I could remember now. Only Remember! I don’t think I would get to feel that way anymore.
And as I see Death smiling at me with extended arms, I am am happy for each of those emotions that I had felt. I am happy that I had loved. I had laughed until my eyes watered. I cried when I couldn’t hold it all together any longer. I am happy that I had hugged my son while I still could. I am happy that I had thrust a pillow in my face and had screamed, to let out my anger and pain. I had felt that satisfaction when I had changed a moment in someone’s life for good. Those are the emotions that made me, that built me, that defined me as a person. Emotions are all I had in this life. Those are the only things that I get to carry today.
Death hugged me as I walked into His arms. He held me tight and close and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for fighting back.”
Yes, I would want Death to say that to me.
He runs about the house with a yell.
He has hundreds of stories to tell.
He pretends to fall down and laughs.
Thrice, he broke my spectacles in half.
He cries when I drag him from the park.
Or when I put him to bed after dark.
He cries when I don’t let him watch TV.
And smiles when I let him sit on my knee.
He needs to color my office files,
He needs to paint the kitchen tiles.
The dishwasher is his place to hide,
On my back, he goes for his ride.
These days, rhymes are the only tunes I hum,
I never eat lunch, without him wanting some.
I pee with an audience outside the door.
I wake up each day, wanting to sleep some more.
Yet, I am filled with bliss, each time he smiles,
I play with him through shopping mall aisles.
I tear up, when he asks, “Mama, want some hug?”
We read storybooks, as we lay on the rug.
He is my book and my story untold.
In his eyes I see my love unfold.
He is my storm. He is my rain,
He is the sun, that lays my unrest, slain.
Grey hairs and wrinkled skin,
Trembling hands intertwined,
The slow evening walk,
As the day resigned.
On the park bench we sit,
In silence. Nothing to say.
Our stories are said,
Its almost the end of day.
Hold me, my love,
Don’t let me go.
All I want is
to grow old with you.
She sat by the road with her grandmother. I asked her, “Can I click a picture?”
She said, “ok.”
I clicked a few. I asked, “Don’t you smile?”
She took up a necklace, held it around her neck and smiled.
As the morning wakes,
The snow on the peaks
melts down the woods.
Life, in the river it seeks.
The cold air chills,
While the sun warms.
And the rivers sing.
The aching heart calms.
I wish to build a hut,
under the tree by the riverside.
Teach at the local school,
And hum on my homeward ride.
Grow my own apples,
And catch a river trout.
Paint a picture. And write.
With the children play about.
Let the river sing to me,
lullabies to sleep every night.
Until the day I stand,
In death’s benign sight.
The white gleam…
As the sun wakes…
The white fades,
And I watch in awe.
As the nature
breathes in colors.