Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Rainy Thoughts...

I look out of my window,
Great many droplets before me fall,
The earth reaches out to receive them, the maiden receiving her first kiss...
There is a sense of glory in the black clouds
Pleasure and pride in seeing the earth receive their gift.

My thoughts rocket back to him,
Standing forlornly on the pavement,
Great many droplets before him fall
Do the clouds know he does not want them?
Do they know he does not reach out to them like the maiden earth...

The rain pours unabated,
He on the pavement,
I beside my window...
Great many droplets before us fall...

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Love's Labour Is Never Lost

My husband is an engineer by profession. I love him for his steady nature and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders.Three years into courtship and now two years into marriage, I have to admit I m getting tired of it.The reasons for me loving him before have now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness. I m a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to relationship and feelings. I yearn for romantic moments like a lil' girl yearning for candies. My husband is my complete opposite. His lack of sensitivity, and his inability to bring romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love.
One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision.
I asked for a divorce. "Why?" he asked,shocked. "I m tired,there are no reasons for everything in this world!" I answered.
He kept silent the whole night,and seemed to be immersed in deep thought.My feeling of disappointment only increased. Here was a man who couldn't even express his predicament, what else could I hope for, from him? Finally he asked : "what can I do that'll change your mind?"
Somebody had said it right : it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I had started losing faith in him. Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered, "Here's the a question. If you can answer me and convince my heart, I will change my mind. Let's say, I want a flower from the face of a mountain cliff, and we are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, would you pick it for me?" He said he would answer the next day, my hopes sank...
I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his handwriting, under a glass, on the table.
The note read:
My dear, I would not pick the flower for you, but please allow me to explain why... when you use the computer, you always mess up the software programs, and u cry infront of the screen. I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore those programs and wipe off your tears... You always leave the house keys behind, so I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way. You like to stay indoors, I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom, you always stare at the computer and that'll do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails, and remove those annoying white hairs.
" So my dear, unless I m sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do, I could not pick that flower yet and die...."
My tears dropped onto the letter, and blurred the ink. I continued reading... " Now , that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside, like everyday, with your favourite braed and fresh milk..."
I rushed to open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching the milk bottle and bread. Now I am very sure that no one can or will love me more than he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

The Island

There is a lonely isle...
Set apart,
In the midst of the sea
Where the birds rest awhile,
On their long flight
To the south
They rest a night
Then take wing and depart
To the southern seas...

I am an island set apart
In the midst of the sea...
and a bird from the mainland
Rested on me...

Reflection muses...

Language is the basis for recapturing experience...

- Cyhthia Selfae