By Dr Varshini
On a desolated road, I found her
An empty shell, a building that was once a home, a neglected muse
The gates chained with rusting metal
The window panes broken and shattered
The garden bursting of weeds but yet you could see how beautiful it
must have been
The heavy doors wailed like an old woman as I let myself in,
The sound echoing through empty rooms
The dust settled in on the floor like fog on a dewy morning
The moss climbing the roof like a child trying to reach for jars on top
shelf
The dried leaves dancing in the hallways as the wind romances it
I ran my fingers on the walls,
Crayons. Photographs. Tiny specks of paint breaking off. Soot.
The walls of the house soaked the memories of its previous occupants
The laughs, the kisses, the fights, the hugs
The smell of cooking oil seeped into the kitchen walls,
The tears crawled into the pillows,
You could hear the giggles, the gleeful running around.
May be the house loved it’s occupants back. Held them close. Too close.
In haunted corners you could still smell the pain, the wails of loneliness,
the need to be wanted, the urge to be loved.
On a desolated road, I found her.
A building that was once home
A building that lay here post war
That sucked the trauma of loss and heartache around her
That tasted bitterness at the back of its throat
That had to let go of the very people she ever loved
I marveled at her strength
At the audacity of standing so still even after wars shook her foundation
At the stillness she held even after she waged bloody battles inside her
The way she opened her arms even after she had been wronged
The way she stood there with softness in her eyes and a longing for
someone to hold her
I touched her bruises and scars, her past and present
She will always house memories of her past, of her previous lovers, of
the good times and heartache, of the laughter and pain.
But what beauty it is to love someone who has the ability to give love
even after tasting blood on her lips
Whose love runs carefree like a gleeful river, whose love can make you
swim oceans
What beauty it is to love someone who housed the coldest hearts and
yet had warmth enough to light the world.
Who wants to embrace you even if there is a possibility of the thorns
pricking her body
Who loves with the same conviction, same innocence and purity even if
she knows it could burn her down.
Ah, what a beautiful thing it is! To love and be loved. To hurt and still find
the courage to love.
By Dr Varshini
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