All men stand at the same beach
And yet each is kissed by a different wave.
Reading through my letters here through the last 6 years I have re-lived all that I wrote - some am amazed at - some am embarrassed about :)
But what struck me really hard is the fact that there were some incredibly amazing people who I conversed with and never really had a chance/chose not to know in real life - back then. I am wiser now.
If we interacted in the past - I would love to hear from you. I want to write to you - AGAIN!
If we never conversed here - and yet we had our way with the words on our works - I would love to hear from you. I want to write to you NOW!
Lettrs has been an amazing place all through the years - simple coz of the beautiful people that make it what i...
"The Sound of Goodbye"
Ever wondered what does a goodbye sound like? What it feels like to see the person you held most dearest in the entire galaxy leave you - as you watch the tracks of his walking away be washed away in the pouring rain? As day after day you wait in your window and the rain seems to only obscure the sight of distant horizons - the hopes fading with each day passing by - as the days turn to months and to years they turn on in waiting - as each evening you set the table for two and dine alone as candle after candle melts and dies at your table and then tired you fall down into your cold bed to sob into your pillow and sleep to sadness every single night.
A poem on two fee...
The Monk Who Fell In Love
Fall in love. See her walk away. Feel the heart burst. Watch everything break apart. And then walk away. Like a monk. Free of judgements. Free of prejudice. Build a life from broken pieces. And then return home. To find the rose you gifted her - blooming in the neighbor's garden. Smile. Stare. Sob for hours. And then walk away - never again to return.
In the windowsill
Of the moving train
Watching a sunset
A farmer leaving for home
The distant creaking
Of the windmill
Of howling winds
Across the mountains
Someone in a rendezvous
Of the hillside stone
Moans making love
As the grass is crushed
Under her body
From the force of his thrusts
And as the sobs of another girl
Waters the dying grass
Somewhere love is made
And Grass is crushed
And somewhere the love is dead
And new grass is made.
The Unsuspecting Reader
There are days I want to be sad.
On days when the skies are grey
And the birds are heading home
A storm brews in the skies
Raindrops pattering in my garden.
As the rain picks up pace
The storms now thundering
As the candle melting on my table
Makes shapes of my shadows on the wall behind me
Young and sad - I start reading a book.
As the story grips
As candle after candle melt
In daylight and night
Season after season
As the wrinkles appear
On my forehead
As the shadows grim
On the walls behind me
As I turn the last page of the book
And find myself holding a mirror
Old and smiling.
Stories so many, many were the days. Good bad sad grief. Hugs kisses mountains miseries. Days nights breeze winds. Tears sweat sweet sour. All everything none at all. You and I and that is all💝