Half Written Stories

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In the middle of the road,
Stuck at the half route,
Seeking the future,
Yet, looking at the bygones.

No regrets, yet negativity,
Patience, was once the attribute,
Now tested  beyond the limits,
Polished, to the point of finish.

Finally finding the way to destiny,
Yet, a long road  awaits ,
Baby steps taken, to love, to passion,
Interrupted often , wary being.

Halfway learnings, I call the story,
Of love, of infatuations, of muses,
Half likings, wrong assumptions,
I call all that stay, and the ones gone.

Wrongs often attracted, fuel and leave,
Rights often attract, nicety give moments,
A cup of coffee, or maybe the cup of tea,
One is a mystic, the other often taken.

Life is a swirling highway, twisted turns,
I seek simple directions, for hurt too much,
Yet it hopes, believes and likes magic,
For sparks they leave, signs of an alive heart.

Written as part of OctPoWriMo Writing Prompt Day 15: Writers Fully Writing

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Dance of Passion

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Obsession, desire, lust,
I know not, what are you,
Enveloped in magnificence
I see your aura all around.

Your laughter trickles my inside,
Your touch make me go stoned,
You are what I love to possess,
This entrapment stays, till you afar.

Enraptured by those piercing eyes,
Thoughts revolved around your nearness,
Distances don’t dissolve so soon yet,
But I still live in dreams, alone.

You are my newest fascination off late,
For you hold charming keys of attention,
Your company tickles me into hopes,
Yet, I wonder why exist this wanting.

A dance of passion, I seek with you,
When the body melts, with heat of love,
I will succumb to all that I hold inside,
To be yours, even if for mini seconds.

Then I awake to the reality you live in,
Fearful of the disruption this all brings,
You take a step, I ran nearer before,
But I wonder, maybe step back is my fate.

Longings, to possess, keep me going,
The distance, created much more fantasies,
I seek to be enveloped in the turmoil you are,
And maybe just once, have a fire ballet with you.

Written as part of OctPoWriMo Writing Prompt Day 12:The Art of Obsessions

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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Some Flashes

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Some purple dreams, some pink wishes, some white wings and maybe some hue of red. I wish, I dream. Of a rainbow surround around. Of petrichor and rains. Of beaches and winds. Of snugly feel and wet feet. Of the sun that set behind the mountains and colored  the sky with his light. Of the darkness that awaits its departure and of the moon who tells stories we might never know.

I wish for more such dreams, drenched in love of the nature. I smile with the few pages that might have my name. I at times blush when Snow-White or Cinderella find their one. For I believe, maybe fairy tales might be real. Maybe miracles do happen and maybe we are puppets who might have a happy end.

I once believed more earnestly and burned in my own desires. I once had thorns that pricked hard and yet I ran far off to the mountains, across the seas and fighting the rains. I once never thought of what was moral. I once never thought of me . I once thought of only ‘us’.

Today all I find is vacuum and some blank pages. Ink refuses to spill and words fail to be coined and yet I smile. For I survived. For I loved. For passions still drive me. I might not browse the tales more, I might not read the sagas as much, I might watch romances unravel less, but I still believe. I believe whenever this heart misses a beat. For some person compliment my existence. I still believe when I share a smile or a bite. I still believe when I play games of infatuations. I still believe when in spite of wisdom and fleeting youth, I see him standing at the door with some flowers. Who is he ? My heart wonders. The eyes just see a blurred image. And he disappears. But then I feel warm as if someone left a hug. And I feel secure. For he is around. Even if not near.

I babble nonsense. I scribble half truths. I dream of the unreachable. I desire what is not mine. Yet I believe destiny isn’t cruel. And who knows if he reads this and smiles. And decades later, we will write an end to these mindless tales together.

Also Prompted @3WW and @Theme Thursday

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