Take Away My Pain

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Tell me my mother
Why couldn’t you see?
For night after night,
I cried my plea.


He walked into my room,
Uninvited. Unseen.
Like shadows of yore,
And acted so mean.


I didn’t like it, dear mother,
I never liked playing that game.
That trouble, the trauma
God! What was its name?


I died every night,
And was born the next day.
A phoenix of sorts,
With scars that stay.


Tell me my mother
Why couldn’t you see?
For night after night,
I cried my plea.


Take me with you
Take away my pain
I’d rather be alone,
And watch memories remain.

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Subtle Reminders

He had the habit of leaving me small notes and I used to love them. A familiar handwriting, the smell of scented paper, words of warmth and his voice through that.

The comfort that the heart yearned for, while my fingers ran through the half empty bed and beneath the pillow covers to reach the note.

Only this time, it was different.

The words conveyed what my ears refused to hear. The paper smelt like another woman and shimmered with shades of her mascara.

“Will be late”, it read.

I heard his voice and her smile.

I wished that the habit had left with him.

Objects in the rear view mirror do appear closer than they are.

You only miss that which is no more. Don you?

First Times

It was the first time she had pushed aside the feeling of may-be-it-is wrong. It was the first time, she was afraid that he would hear her heart screaming. The first time when lying was tough. The first time, she felt love.

She dressed so carefully hoping he would notice and rehearsed her coy smile a million times in front of the mirror. It was the only time; she chose jasmine over roses, and yellow over pink. She did her eyes, and then her hair and carefully pulled out a strand from the side. It dangled and danced as she glanced sideways at the mirror checking all along to see if the pallu was in place.

She had favorites that changed every two minutes. He was probably the only exception.

I sat at a distance watching both of them. Of course, I was the one who had listened to her stories until then. But this time we walked a path of silence. Only she kept interrupting with giggles and hurried steps that upset the rhythm our anklets maintained.

Actually, I knew both of them equally well. Both, who had told me everything but this. Love, I thought to myself.

They spoke through the night. But the night remained young. He held her hand and clutched it tight. Her head locked position on his shoulder. And I sat plucking my lower lip waiting for them to say goodbye.

He did and we left. That was the last train out of the village.

Her first time without him.

Elastic Hearts.

One of the most serious consequences of being more than just friends is its irreversibility.