It is 6 am now and I have been waiting for last one hour in front of my open window yet morning hasn't come. It is drizzling and there is a strange gloomy darkness all around. I know how the sun rays have tried to pierce the thick dense black cloud but fail, almost like my dreams; an aborted and discarded effort. I desperately try to shake off this feeling but the rain has fetched a strange subtle stench of betrayal and it is persisting. I also hear sounds. A weird humming resonance of the falling rain and it is peculiarly getting mixed with a jingling shattering sound of glass breaking; as if my hopes and my dreams are cracking and the splinters have fallen on the ground. Broken glasses have always reminded me of broken relationships. The more you try to collect and arrange the fragments the more you bleed and hurt yourself.
I am smiling now. For, I know that today it would be the day of my poetry. Those verses will keep drifting in my breath, run in my blood and get stuck in my throat like a fish bone and I would neither be able to swallow or throw it out. But I am thankful to them. All those verses with green sparkling eyes and a promising smile, sometimes blinding me with their glitter like a flash of sun on a silver mirror, and at times like a soothing shine of rainwater on banana leaves, will save me always. They don’t allow me to shed tears incoherently or laugh too much as before. They drive away depression that used to shroud me in the past so easily, sticking to my psyche like a bubble gum. Now my poetry helps me live. They have made me human. They help me breathe. I am not alone anymore, till I merge.
A piece of my poem helps me breathe.
It floats in my blood the whole day;
It hovers in my thoughts
It hangs from my eyelash
It hides in my smile
It cuts me, bruises me, injures me at times
It loves me, kisses me, spoils me at times
A piece of my poem kindles me live.
A piece of my poem helps me breathe.
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