Moonshine lonesome

Tonight, the moon waxed among the garland of a million stars glimmering in the inky sky. I sat in the balcony, alone, dreading the loneliness for the first time. My coffee and my life were at parallels, dark, bitter yet strong and addictive.

The only noise was of an old owl howling and the evening egrets flapping their little wings and my noisy stream of thoughts. I wished for his balmy touch on my cold shoulders, his soft lips on the back of my head, his ticklish whispering in my ears that would make me laugh, his taking my hand in his virile hands and twirling on any song we hummed under our breaths.

After a fatiguing day, I would retire to my bed, a bed hardened with the bouts of his thoughts and incessant tears that desired for his presence. How he would curl his arms around my waist, and cup his chin in my shoulder, how I would hold his hand and feel safe. Now it’s just a dark forest where I walk alone, following my own breath, nobody to comfort me, nobody to walk along, my feet tired of walking, stop somewhere where I see him, calling me to soak me in his arms…and disappearing all the same! His illusion keeps me going! His vague presence makes me toil. He’s far…very far…but his thoughts keep me alive!

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F(O) re (VER)

The sun sank lower in the sky, changing to shades of tangerine and the cotton candy clouds blushed pink with the balmy touch of the setting sun, and there I waited near a bangle sellers cart, for him to come, hoping to recognise his face; after all it had been a dozen year! And there he was with a smiling face and I waved at him. Soon we were walking through the piazza, my eyes shifting from him to the glittering lights and sky and people around, and back to him! “Coffee?” He asked and soon we were strolling past the unfamiliar faces on that evening, the two of us….in search of a coffee shop! On entering the coffee shop there was a silence that enveloped us, and we decided to break the ice by placing an order. I saw him go to the billing area and saw him come and we talked about this and that! I was opening up to him like a blossoming bud.

Then, I saw his face lighted up among those dim coffee shop lights, and his attentive eyes and that strong shot of cappuccino and my endless talking, and his yes’s and no’s (mostly yes’s) and I had found someone whom I wouldn’t trade for life, someone on whom I could count! But now I see him as someone whom I used to know, and suddenly nothing matters, everything has faded like the world to a blind man and fog after the sunrise. It isn’t easy to love someone who doesn’t love you back in ways you want her to love you! There was tranquility in the way I love him, there was no obsession, no possession….only tranquil love, a love that his somatic, carnal blurred eyes couldn’t see! To love someone isn’t in our control but to walk away from that love is!

Shades….

In the cloudplay on a blustery day and dead drizzling on a stormy night, he came to my mind in shades of greys leaving me in blues. The winds whispered to my ears a thousand memories of him and I sauntered down the memory lane.

Standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to take off, his deadpan gaze at the world beneath his feet, so unflinching, so passive, his glider would unfurl and I would skip a beat, and open my eyes to see him flying, higher and fearless! Those were the times he would forget me….forget himself…..forget the world!

On the moonless nights, we would stare at the shallow sky and talk of this and that! He would warm up my cold feet under the sheets and caress my nape with his soft lips until I fell asleep! I’d wake up in the middle of the night to a balmy view of a thousand glittering lights festooning the hills and his head on my my lap, and I would feel complete!

The dark dawns would keep us in covers for a little longer, and I’d feel melancholic with the thought of letting him go! He’d hold me closer and whisper to my ears- “these mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.”

And I saw him slowly and hazily disappear into a thick, dark forest, dispersing into a thousand shades of grey, swaying away with the winds, far away somewhere where he greets me when I’m lost and blue!

The times past.

The frozen fingers of the wind clutched my hair back and my still numb eyelids from the last night’s crying, felt even heavier as I walked in that blustery morning. Crying is purgatory. The flurries of rain that came with the gushy winds masked my swollen eyes to the world outside.

I travelled back in time when in a similar windy night, with the snowflakes falling and shimmering on our hair, he took my hand and graced my finger with a trinket, and called me family. I smiled and never smiled that way again. It was the miles we vowed to cover together, to live the dreams of one another, to go places, to escape to someplace where water sparkled with starlight and, where the silence bewitched our souls. We danced that night, danced till our aching feet could take it no longer! And sat, breathing heavily with the disco lights flashing, faces gleaming, and time running fast. I could feel my throbbing pulse and it soared whenever I saw his face filtering from the shaft of glimmering lights. His words lost in the sound of music reached my ears in fragments but reached my eyes completely!

Moments later we found ourselves wrapped in one another’s arms with warmth intact and I wondered whether it would last forever? And he sang “itna Na mujhse tu pyaar jata, ke mai ikk baadal aawaara, kab tak kissi ka sahaara banu, k mai khud beghar bechara.”

And we mused over the lyrics and felt it impossible to unclasp our arms and let go each other. And now walking in the windy morning, I felt a sorrow that even tears couldn’t wash off, wanting to turn back the clocks, to die in that moment when he held me in his arms!

Now that he’s gone I have a desire, a hope that makes those voids even deeper….and I reminiscence over the past, the pain surges high and bursts into incessant tears, but I wish I could explain how joyous and relieving it is to be devastated in love! To be liberated yet caged! How beautiful the pitch black night seems when the dagger of his memories plunges in my heart and I’m lost in his reveries….forever!

दूर वादियों में कहीं

A journey I took, to shudder off the monotony that held me so tight, that I started to suffocate. It weakened my nerves. The Spleen replaced the blood and ran through my veins, I felt homesick for those arms that showed me a blithe disregard. So I was ready to escape. Packing a survival kit, I set forth with a great panache to tread the path towards the majestic mountains of triund.

The breeze caressed my face softly and I forgot how tiresome the whole trek was. The spleen was getting replaced by the warm blood. The purple hued evening studded with tiny stars and the clouds played a maestoso with the mountains that stood in front of me, ready to embrace me. I was basking in the purple rain, and my mind played back the song “little red corvette” yes, I had found the everlasting love here.

And when the Shepherd sang in his rustic voice “laal chiriye” the lore of the dusk, the hour of the cow dust…(godhooli) by the fireside, that spit orange embers into the inked sky, I absorbed the image of the silhouetted mountains for the last time, that left me teary eyed, for I had never felt a consummation so deep and fulfilling. I was blitzed as the night put its dark warm blanket on me, I was longing for this sleep and I wish I’d never woke up from that steady slumber.

Picture credits : Rajiv Srivastava

imazinindia03@gmail.com

http://instagram.com/rajiv_srivastava

Wintry warmth

Under the star studded winter sky, when people usually don’t prefer walks, he’d go out covering his neck with a pashmina scarf, holding a lantern that dissipated tangerine beams on to the deserted rack, glistening with frost. He would gulp the cold wind that hit his face. Winter was a Vanita art to him, aesthetically pleasurable than the “Ars moriendi” where wreck and decay were symbolic of new beginnings.

He’d return unusually earlier with a face numbed from cold and, the dying embers in the grate would give a crimson flush to his numbed nose. “There’s magic happening outside” he would say to me and I’d look at his now vigorous face and I would acknowledge with a smile. Winter was a sip of vintage to him, a balmy beam on the graveyard, a beautiful death he’d like to embrace. Sitting in his armchair, he would sip the hot joe, putting off the lights and gazing at me with the filtered beams of the lantern, he’d scribble on his diary :

” Do you notice the pride of this winter night, seems as if it has come after meeting you….do you see what benevolence it holds, drags me home a little early to be with you.”