Her fingers brushed past my skin,
in a hurry to avoid what I am.
As if she knew what to avoid, what not to remind,
what must not be spoken – for the love to remain.
Only after I learnt to let my footsteps
be taken by the waves,
only after taking myself out
of every unsolved equation-
I knew enough of world to know
the scent of tears on her face,
even when her happiness was believable enough.
Once her fingers had brushed past my skin
in a hurry to avoid being found
as if she knew all places to hide, what not to show,
what not to be – for love to remain.
I try to take out this poison
of my thoughts
drop by drop from my blood.
My blood, that doesn’t want to be red.
My thoughts, that don’t want to be rational.
My pain, that doesn’t want to dull.
And the more papers I fill,
the more I am convinced
there is no other way I could live.
That I am surely escaping my end
by keeping my sobs on different lines,
on different pages.
By dividing the oceans, the sorrows
that were intent on drowning me.
With every step that I take towards you,
a part of me crumbles down to dust.
Sometimes it is my smile,
sometimes it is my fear.
And yet when I am so close to you,
when I have proved my love for you,
I cannot ask you to do the same.
I fear when you loose all that I have lost,
would you be still remain the person you were.
Would you still be that light,
which could pull me out of the rubble
of my own broken world?
I would welcome you into these
arms to cry out your grief,
If only I could leave my bitter heart behind
that only wants to be consoled
and never wants to care for anyone else.
That only looks at the world
to look for a face
who would take the blame for what it suffered.
This jail, that I could not break out of,
it had bars made of petals,
ceilings lighted with memories
and under my feet
the hearts of people beating only by my love
(or so I wanted to believe).
It was the fragile nature of this confinement
that made my escape impossible.
And even though I was a captive-
that small space was also a world,
a less harsher world.
Once I make my way out,
there would be nowhere to return to.
It was a bubble that couldn’t be remade
by regrets and tears.
For many reasons, I promised myself an escape everyday
without even trying to leave.
I know I will leave eventually.
At some point, we all have left those rooms-
that feel like prison when lived in
and feel like unattainable dreams once lost.
I make some space on my cluttered desk
for my head to rest its worries.
And I find a string of light
as a keepsake
to take with me when I’m buried.
What else am I going to miss?
There are so many things I miss in life already.
But I can’t make my heart strong enough
to reach out to a life
that I have lived without.
I can’t make myself
go out of this room
open the door to see
the spring that I always dreamt of,
the spring that waits for me outside.
What really happens
when I untangle my lies
from my heart?
Could my heart bear the harshness
of cold glance?
Could my fingers really stop
knitting a new scarf of falsity?
There are better questions out there
that cannot touch or hurt me.
There are stories
where God has planted my struggles
in life of others-
for me to witness,
for me to relive,
for me to cry,
for me to heal
for me to forgive myself.
Even on this side of the mirror,
in the world of shining surfaces
and sharp and dissolving images,
I have found myself
looking for clues of this fabricated world;
of trying to look for a secret trapdoor
and hidden rooms,
for a way out of here.
Not thinking even once what it meant
to be out of this world.
And even if I make it out
that world that my heart can hold
can it witstand the touch
of a person made of light and glass?
No great escape.
No new world, no new word,
can make me more real
than the image I am.