happiness ...

‘I will call you for sure;

We shall meet again’ he promised...

 

In between the velvety folds

of those promises she built a house, long cherished.

And to live in an imaginary house is the best,

her house, built from the grit of memory

has no trial and no test. 

good to have a fantasy house with hopes and dreams so little,

as the walls of which bear no rhyme and not another riddle.

no expectations, nor fear in the mesh of other allusions,

longing neither to belong nor to search for meaning in this illusion. 

Resting under the painted ceiling out of which Images grow,

she feels happy as the walls cannot anymore smell of sorrow.

Not aching to make sense of the day or the night,

she doesnt weep any more, try as she might.

For she knows this is all there is, and this is so,

there’s no panic of an end, and no one to leave and go!

 

 

an utter mistake

Her father did an utter mistake

of not holding her

of not carrying her on his shoulder

showing her the world.

And you too have done the same

of not binding her with the sacred thread

or a stained centre parting, the mistake

of not giving her someone to carry your name.

So she never learnt how to belong

She never felt home.

 

And she kept dreaming

of roaming in faraway places,

of the night sky

all alone,

her fists closing on strangers’ stories;

 

Now, often,

she becomes a kite, the string lifts her and

she flies.

She feels that she bears a river inside her

her hair floating like water-weed,

she lies still and listens

to the upsurge of a river within her,

the water rises, rippling in circles,

legs, waist, arms ... and

she paints a blue bird on her navel ... 

And she never learns to belong
she never learns home.
 
They made an utter mistake
Her father and you!

for http://magpietales.blogspot.in/