What happens to their dreams when people die?
Do they get burried too?
Or like seeds; they grow?
What happens to the tears people cry?
Do they dry like auntumn leaves?
Or like rivers and streams they always flow?
What happens to the stars in people’s eyes?
Do they ever return with the night?
Or under the sunlight they always hide?
I wonder, I wonder what happens to the dreams when people die!
And one kiss of passion and love could melt all the frost off her lips.
The ink has been wandering in my heart pushing itself to come out through the pen and fall on the empty paper; fall on the paper and say what it had explored inside. The ink is dark, like a night without the moon;
Or the stars.
And It smells like smoke.
Or maybe ashes.
And ashes don’t write. They only bleed.
Knock gently on the closed doors so they can reveal pains they have burried themselves under.
I was standing there trying and admiring those indian bangles one after another. Subtle car honks mixed with murmuring of crowd in the background. Sun, almost sinked in. Wind playing around in joy.
“Why don’t you try that white dress? I don’t like red.”
A voice took over all the other noises. I turned around in hurry and everything stopped.
White. Ofcourse. Who else would prefer his lady in white and not red. I could see my young self standing beside him. Adoring the white only because he laid his eyes on it. One atrocious breeze dusts off memories I had alomst forgotten.
His attention turned slightly towards me. I didn’t want him to look but before I could turn away, he touched; with his deep blue eyes. I felt it, yet gain.
Everything else didn’t matter anymore. It all became blur and unstaurated. All I could feel was him. We had a distance of eight years in between, but I could still feel him. All around me. All over me. I relived the four years we had together in those four seconds.
A little girl in pink standing beside him, patting his thigh, showing off her ear rings.
“Daddy daddy, look at these.”
His eyes sparkled while he picked her up. He smiled as wide as he could. I understood. Just like I did eight years ago when he left for studies. Without saying a word.
I turned around, smiling. The void I carried for a long time had been filled with peace. After a long time, I wasn’t faking it. I was actually smiling.
For we finally said the good bye I yearned for.
I read the most beautiful poems everytime I look into his eyes.
He was the moonlight reflecting on her fair skin,
The sunshine playing with her golden hair.
A sweet lullaby she slept to.
And the romantic song she twirled to.
His thoughts tickled; like a strand of hair on her face.
His words whispered; like Radiance on her skin.
He was the red on her cheek.
The echo in her head.
He loved her, like poets loved the words;
With passion, with pain
And kissed her, like clouds kiss the mountains;