Skip to main content

A letter with love

Someday I will write a letter,
Oh yes, I have planned it since long.
I was in high school and I had begun to dream,
I wanted to write a letter and to sign it with love.
But I set those papers on fire.
Why? Well, I fumbled for words
Words that could paint my tears and yet not drown them
And I scribbled with dried ink,
Canvassing my soul but could I yet write one?
My hands froze, my eyes went hazy,
"Oh look at her, what a pity!", they mocked.
But little did it matter or perhaps it did matter then,
But bit by bit those patches of dried ink began to flow
I wrote words which transformed into sentences.
Sentences that got a lease of life,
And I wrote a letter.
I looked at it, folded it and put it in my drawer
And one sunny day I set it ablaze
My heart fluttered and my throat had a lump
But little did it matter, little did I care.
It, I felt was not written with love,
So, I sat at my desk
And tried writing one
But voices within me fought and the fight ate me alive.
I threw my pen and never picked it up again.
Someday, I will write a letter
It will be a short one but it would be with love
And then I would fold it and put it in my drawer
And smile at it as if it were a flower
Someday, perhaps.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Reading between the lines

"Read between the lines",  I heard our professor say. We were in midst of a Victorian text. I looked at her point blank. She had spoken about something which I had no clue about. "Ma'am,  would you please elaborate? ",  I tried framing this sentence in my mind but my introverted  self overpowered my inquisitive soul like everytime. I hopelessly waited for an explanation. Ma'am started explaining about how beyond the surface meaning of any written text, there lay a wide plethora of meaning which wasn't explicitly stated. She talked about finding a void between the written words and our imagination, that void which shapes our interpretation. That explanation opened doors to my perception of reading a text. It wasn't that I had never considered about the possibilities of meanings that lay coated in words until then, but, what perhaps I lacked was to look for that void where I questioned the layers of meaning, where I put myself in those layers of wo...

What do you want to be?

While I was in my 10th standard, almost everyone I met wanted to know what I wanted to be. This question always perplexed me. From the lens of a fifteen year kid who was not yet sure of the changes which awaited in the near future, this question gave me nightmares. I would constantly sit by the mirror and ask myself, what actually would be my answer. My friends always had fancy answers at their disposal. They would confidently chirp whenever any one asked about it. What amused me most was, my friend who had no inkling to study Biology wanted to be a doctor and another friend who detested the idea of even cooking noodles, wanted to be a chef! But whenever they spoke about their wishes, they would always sound confident. And there I was, fumbling for words which refused to escape my lips. It was not until I entered Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya to do my plus two, I found my voice. The teachers there have a different way of viewing life. For the first time, I no longer felt the classroom...

"My love is enough for both of us"

"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while ...