Unrequited Love

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I don’t even know if I know what it is properly. Maybe because whenever I have felt something which was not requited I called it infatuation. My first crush lasted I guess five years. It got over when I thought I was in love. But today I think he wasn’t love but was my first muse. Back in those days, I studied literature, and absolutely loathed studying poetry but then this guy walks in with those greek God looks and I started to scribble. I hardly have much memory, but I know, I had lonely nights where I just wrote and in the college I roamed here and there to catch a glimpse of him. I think I even changed chairs in my class once to sit near him. And maybe even smiled when he took my notes or said thanks. Man, those were the days. That was the closest I could get to love then. And I benefitted. Few of my poems were published and I found a talent I never knew existed. Also, I got a taste of love that isn’t mine.

Then, came another one, I crushed on. I think everyone but me knew I was infatuated. And somehow he never liked it. He almost scrapped my heart out. It was terrible. Yearnings I came to know then. But he marked his memory forever. For he was also my first kiss. A very beautiful one. My heart desired more and I messed up the friendship. And we became strangers. But then somehow things happen for the best. For if he had never happened, I would not have met someone who I cannot define.

I called him the friend first. Then a best friend, then my first love and ultimately my soul mate. But I am talking of unrequited love right, so how can we talk of lovers ? Well, sometimes lovers teach a bit too much about it. He taught me love, strength, patience and lot many things. But more than anything he taught me that kind of selfless love where we are fine with them not loving us our way. That is unrequited love too in a way. It took a great deal for my heart to make that person my greatest weakness, and it took a lot of strength to make him accept his love for me. But I won. Love won. Just that destiny failed us. And ever since, he stays as the greatest love story of my life till date. We maintain the fallacy of friendship but still cannot talk about our lovers. My heart skips a beat when I see his picture. I have moved on, maybe. But he is still that piece of my heart that still feels the same. I never could gather the courage to meet him again. For if I did, love might come flooding back and destroy me.

Of late, I relish in the idea of unrequited love more than going and expressing it. Maybe being in love scares me. I infatuate, I cherish people I like. I write about all muses I meet. But I don’t seek a story. I like to yearn, I like to feel it from afar. And then when I take a step, someone just destroys me. Someone just did that. I was on a step to love and they stepped far and cut me off their life. I was hurt. But more than anything I was taken aback at the coldness which humans have now. They express all their love till we are ready. And then. Maybe, that is just me. Maybe, it is the expectations of the heart which want more. But then I love and hence I feel and so I write.

Somehow, life has taken hold of me. I don’t really care or love that hard. Infact, it doesn’t matter. I have a hard time to trust. I somehow wonder if love is even for me. For all my life, I loved more than I got and I just lost the patience. Or maybe because I showered all my love to that one person that now I just cannot give. I can give from far, like unrequited love. But when I receive, I question it.

Maybe that is one reason, my muse is just that for a long time. When I first met him. I knew we could write a tale together. I longed to touch the cervices of his scars and tell him I can heal. Below the moonlight night, when he sang, I wanted to quieten his pain. When we shared coffee, and he talked of his dreams, I wished I could live them with him. And now when he talks of loneliness, I wish to sit aside and listen. But alas, I can’t even embrace him or hold his hand. Kiss would be too much. It is not like I cannot. I fear, I have lost the capability to love, and would loose that feeling if I get the ‘ one’. Maybe, I am just too used to unrequited love to ever be able to relish mutual love.

That is just me.  I loose feeling the love when people show too much of it to me. Maybe I like challenges even in love. But I still believe. Because only love is what can make a happy destiny. I believe someday that shield from my heart will go and I will love with all my vulnerabilities. But what hurts is, till that right one comes along, lot of players might attempt to bruise my tattered heart. I do not really allow it now. But we have our weak moments, where we just want a caring hand. Maybe, age is catching on me. And I detest loneliness. I am vulnerable and yet shielded. And it is scary to think that in that double protection game I will attract only the wrongs and repel the right. For I distrust all humans now. For what some evil ones did.

I am made for loving. Maybe even unrequited. I am made for longing and spilling it out on paper. I am made for lonely poetic nights and cold tears. I am made for lot of things. But I still believe.

I believe there is reality beyond unrequited love for everyone.

P.S. I wrote this as a guest post for Archana’s blog long time back. Long I wrote anything so thought will update my readers with this for it has been a while.

P.S.S. Too much this heart and mind has stuffed inside and somehow I am unable to write it and spill. As a result the person that is me is suffering. I updated my blog in the hope that maybe I get inspired to write. Even if few words. I want to. Someday I will.

 

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The Thing Called Love

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One of those not ‘feeling good’ day I am having and I thought maybe writing will help me little bits. What is bothering me no one knows and maybe even I don’t but whatever it must be I hope it dies soon. Just the kind of day I want to cry or maybe even howl but I cannot. Kind of day where I want to snap out at everyone and without reason.

Somehow since I came back to blogging after a gap I forget all the rules of the game. I am no more particular of what I write. I hardly visit much blogs (of which I am sorry), hardly use my favorite prompt sites, and it doesn’t bother much if I am losing my readership base. Maybe this place has become my personal diary where I just have to take out and things make sense. One of the advantages of being semi anonymous I guess.

Now back to the problem. Life is little bit mess right but I know it will be fine once vacation ends and the same hectic schedule starts. But I become too much of an overthinker till then. And even worse when things go sane. Last month was in many mess, health wise mostly. Also, stopped being the nice one. Yet, I felt sane. And now when life is again better, I feel crap. Mended some old bonds and I am glad. Maybe I should not have. Caring brings the worse in me. But I need it. For my mental peace too. Also, after a brief moment, my muse disappointed me once again. And I let it die a silent death. Doesn’t mean he will never make a comeback. He will be around. Just. Maybe because I dreamed of his coldness last night that I am much more messed.

Someone, once destroyed me for love. And thereafter I only made mistakes. Hurt people, got hurt, became a cold persona. Stopped feeling. Became too selfish for anyone to know. Then muse came and I saw hope. He didn’t do anything new now. But I realised let’s not have a story. For I am poles apart from what I was. I just lost the ability to love and patience for it. I might want a companion, but according to my whims and fancies, and that is not how it works.

This doesn’t mean I stopped having fun. I share a smile, sometimes a coffee. I flirt around. I like being crushed upon. But that is it. Last time I went ahead and formed a relationship, I damaged him and never cared. I became so cold that I had no morose of it ending. This wasn’t me. But alas it is.

You must be thinking a believer like me saying all this. Yes, I believe. The mushy stuff I write makes me hope. Or maybe I love my dreams. It is these imaginations which make me happy after a bad day. Fairytales aren’t for me, but I still delve in them for they are my happy quotient. I still hope I be proved wrong. But life is beyond those words and hopes. Love is much beyond those kisses and embrace. It is also about tears, separations and hurtful words. It has ability to thrash us so hard that we never pick up our pieces. I am still picking mine. I do want a happy ending, but maybe without love. But living loveless is not how God made a person like me. He filled in too much feelings in me. He made for me poetry, to feel it in the misery. He made me to give it all, and yet be happy with it. One part of it died long ago. Then I discovered the other. I relish my tales, my mush, my movie kind of imaginations. But these are things that sell. Not kind that happen to us, writers. We end up alone at times. Dying with a book in one hand and ink spilled pages in another.

Too much pessimism happened right ? What to do. Sometimes smiles refuse to reach my lips. Forget eyes. In attempt to make other laugh, I lost mine maybe. Or maybe I got tired of doing things and giving all what others’ need. Maybe I do need a kind word once a while. Or be pampered with all love they have. Sometimes it is important to express, and sometimes its important to feel what others have for you. Sometimes all we want, is to hold hand with someone and just watch the sky at night. But even that is scary now. For then we expect and then it pains.

Once I never cared if it hurts, I was overflowing with love. Even if he berated me, I found an excuse for that and I was often true. For, he did fell in love. Just never knew how to show and was scared if he did it will hurt more. But he forgot, that is all I had to take away when he left. Maybe he was right, because inspite of showing less, I am a bundle of his memories. For he took my soul away, and one night told me, he felt that his soul left to enter mine. And that is still my most cherish memory. We were two souls, fighting a distance, having a silly lover’s conversation post midnight on the phone and a moment changed it all. I felt a white invisible angelic force embracing me and so he did. And thereafter, I called him the soul mate. But then, it is said, soul mates never meet, for they are not meant for mundane tasks. But I never want to settle for anything less than that. But irony is no two loves are same. I might love again but not similarly. And I still hope, I still search, maybe I do have some ending. Some closure. He does the same. Even now. We still communicate in distress. But know our realities.

Some people say, we can have many soul mates. Some even call them best friends. I still wish I have not exhausted my quota. Maybe I should steal one from the heavens. But all I know is my quota for hurt is way overflowing and if I do feel once again and it goes dramatically wrong, I will be done with even hope. And that is one reason I have stopped feeling too, even if the other showers all the love. For I am wary of humans. I don’t want to be an object to be played upon anymore and I wouldn’t be. It will take too much patience for anyone to make me believe in their feelings. I just don’t hope. But if they can make me believe and crack my shield, I am sure they will be worth it. Only a messiah can heal. Only he can make me believe. And make it known that beautiful love is worth it. I hope he exists. Till then, I console my heart to be thankful that atleast he has known love.

I wish, I believe, I hope……love still exists….for me.

P.S. I have too much building inside and I didn’t even said half of it today. Maybe some other day. So be prepared for more such introspective rants when my mood goes disgruntled.

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Deciphered He

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He was sitting by the window, stirring his ‘Earl grey’ as if lost in deep remembrances. And i was just staring at him standing in one corner as if I wanted time to just freeze there. Did I ever tell how I loved his experimental green tea’s. Yes, experimental, for I still don’t know what all he used to steep in the boiling water while preparing them. It always had some ‘special’ herbs he used to get hold of while on his travelling expeditions. Last one he got was from ‘leh’ and must I tell you the smell of his tea was always aphrodisiac. And boy the house was ethereal with that smell whole day. After all he used to love sprinkling such fragrances whole day to me. I almost got addicted to those herbs, and the tea. And maybe even him.

His friends often called him ‘the saint’ and I could never decipher why. Then one stormy night I heard him practicing music loudly as I was preparing some snacks in the kitchen. He was disturbed that day and his voice said so. He had very trained loud decibels. He used to like being called a composer but never the singer. But the ‘alaap’ he used to take used to put a trance on me. I just loved his voice quality and he used to blush at that fact. That night, I ran towards his room to check on him. His hands were pale blue and yet he was going on and on playing the tabla. I could see him lost in his verses. It was horrific to see him in pain but I could not go and embrace him there. For only taking it out through creations subdued him. I stood still and realized why he was called so. I knew there he was born for tasks beyond the world. And I desired the world with him. I just died a little more then.

Little more of ‘sufism’ and ‘rumi’, I used to find in his abode as I knew more of him. He was a wanderer who broke all rules and yet early morning I used to find him reading something on those ‘religious beads’. I used to ask him ‘was he religious ?’ and he used to say ‘religion is in the mind’ and just go on meditating. At other times, I used to ask him ‘but then this ?’ and he used to give me a silent smirk and look at the portrait on his wall. It was of his grandfather. He had sketched it with his own hands one day from the lone picture he had of him. He called himself his ‘murid’ or devotee. Maybe, mornings and the prayers and the beads were his only way to reach him. His only way to seek advise about things that made no sense. Things that God willed. Like snatching his dear ones permanently. I might never know for sure for he hardly said. But he knew, I knew.

One summer afternoon, I saw his arms uncovered. It always was amusing to me that a man with such a good built always preferred full shirts to any kind of voyeurism as if hiding something. I saw what it was. It was his inked shoulder, a dragon tattoo with some message. I didn’t ask but he understood and just said. ‘Sometimes only pains can kill pains’. And I felt something just piercing me through. I wanted to touch it and with it heal him. But only if it was that easy. It was at such times, it was not even easy to embrace him. I was just a devotee. But I knew he wanted me there.

Then one night, I heard him howl. Like the wolfs’ howl. I went inside and saw him ripping inside. He was in deep pain. His eyes said so. He sitting shirtless and his whole body was wet with sweat. He had tears that said just too much. I wanted to go near and say something but he often read my silences. He just said, ‘don’t destroy yourself’. How wish I could tell him how destroyed I was already. I knew he will leave again. His feet needed to travel to submerge all his pain. His time with me needed a break. I wouldn’t say it was over for it will never be. His eyes told me then, I had a piece in his soul which hurt him more for it forces him to stay. But I could not do this to him. I just could not. I took his backpack, stuffed his clothes and asked him to leave. To go to the mountains or the seas or to the skies, but go. There he understood I knew him more than he could have imagined. I didn’t let him say much and pushed him out of the door. For if he had said more I would have broken down. And I did.

As he left, he just said one thing. ‘ I need to go and I will. But home I will need always. And I only have one. Where you stay’. And tears seeped down our eyes. I choked and so did he. And he left reluctantly.

He might come or might not only time will tell. Till then, I embrace his smell every night as I sleep. He still plays melodies in my dreams and kiss me every morning with the sip of my tea. He said, I might be destroyed and I now think I have never been more awakened, more healed and more alive.

P.S. Something in me want to write more on this series. I might whenever I find more words to it. Or might never. But I will still keep writing about the ‘he’. You can read similar writings in the ‘He Series‘ or ‘Muse Writings‘.

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He

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Let’s talk about the ‘he’ today.
‘Who is he?’ many shall wonder.
Let’s just call him the muse.
Muse. Yes, my muse. But a different kind he is.

I knew he would  be one even before we had met. You would wonder just how was it is so.
Well, some muses are such that their tales transverse lands and reach you and all you have to do is lay your eyes on them and they be yours.

I had heard about him many a times. Even crossed paths with him. Maybe, inhaled the same air with him for decades. But still somehow, never noticed him. Maybe, because his time wasn’t right then. We were just two strangers lost in our worlds, living in the illusion that it is the end. We didn’t know we would meet someday. However, we did. For it was destined.

Then, with a sleight of the hand, something unusual happened and I heard about him. I wanted to know more so I decided let me find more and I did. And he just seemed fine. I thought I might strike some conversations with the stranger atleast.

And boy we met. No, the skies didn’t roar nor did the clouds burst open. The sun was shining very bright and I looked liked the usual mess. Then what was different ? Well, two strangers meeting and trying to find if they can tolerate each other is quite a task. Thankfully for the stars, we weren’t alone. Cupid was trying its best to sow the idea of ‘us’ in our minds. Somehow it was sowed in mine, if not him. And unintentionally he became the muse.

The muse, who sat across me beneath the stars and made me laugh. The one who woes me with his creations rather than his flirtations. He was someone I could stare all night and then shout at the sun for rising too early. Chivalry was in his blood, and the feminist in me somehow didn’t objected.

He sat there talking about all things dear. We created magic in the words and the sounds. It was like the stars wanted it no other way. And he never said no. To keep me going, he went his way after giving me the best embrace of a lifetime. With a sullen face and a sad heart I came back and I wrote. Of the muse and his devotee and I am still writing.

Today, he might be sitting in some corner, with a charcoal soiled hands and making another portrait. His fingers might be bleeding some other day composing music with his guitar. He might capture the world in his eyes one day, and in his words another. And I will stand still in another corner of the world, imagining him doing all that and wonder maybe someday, I explore it all with him.

Till then, let him touch the cervices of his lips with his cup of jasmine tea. And I wonder if I get to share it with him some day, lying on the roof, counting the stars and just feeling the silence.

That reminds, even my tea got cold. I sip it in one go and smile, for all the missed drinks. I at times think what if he wonders the same about me. What if, this is indeed destiny, which we are slowing down, by taking only baby steps towards each other. But then best stories get written slowly only.

Someday, this story will have an end. Happy I am sure. For if he becomes mine, then I will be his muse. And if not, he will still be the best muse.

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You are…

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You are
Poetry in motion
You speak
I just wonder
You say
I stand still
You object
I never repeat
You imagine
I weave along
You crave
I still relish
You are
I just desire.

You are
River in motion
You sail
I breath deep
You flutter
I despair more
You rise
I am aghast
You trick
I am curious
You still
I find solace
You are
I just dream.

You are
Silence in motion
You inhale
I skip beats
You smell
I desire gluttony
You play
I sail smoothly
You scribble
I stare blankly
You whistle
I just admire
You are
I just yearn.

You are
Wind in motion
You breeze
I just inhale
You stroll
I live bliss
You fly
I smile quietly
You move
I hold on
You hush 
I hear it
You are
I just feel.

You are
Music in motion
You rhyme
I feel peace
You tinkle
I move along
You rise
I dance ferociously
You blabber
I fill words
You fly
I run behind
You are
I just listen.

You are
Words in motion
You concur
I embrace it
You think
I spill ink
You mean
I find essence
You move
I coin heartbeats
You flow
I exhale aloud
You are
I just scribble.

You are
Passion in motion
You near
I move back
You stare
I melt away
You speak
I feel choked
You hold
I anxiously shake
You touch
I crave more
You are
I just tempt.

You are
Love in motion
You fall
I am trapped
You rise
I am ecstasy
You whisper
I feel gooey
You touch
I shake within
You dream
I see heaven
You are
I just smile.

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