I hid my pain rotting within,
I feared it's suffocating stench.
I wanted your wounds to heal
Just as I hoped mine to fade .
You fell for your wounds and I fell for your pain.
After all, I have always been true to pain.
With every breath under the sky, I have died by bits,
And I am dying continuously without any fail.
I was born with a curse which refuses to leave my skin,
My skin, well it hides well!
My inner world is scattered in bits, but do I give up?, I ask myself.
Where do I run to , if running away could cure me of my curse!
But I was not born to run out of it, I was born to live with it.
I stand transfixed, gazing at the far horizon
And with the last bit of sunrays on my hair
And the wind on my skin
I dream and I keep on dreaming!
My dreamscape is all that I have for myself.
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
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