To love is a sickness,
To love is an ecstasy,
Of happiness and of pain.
To love is light in the darkness,
Yet at times it makes us feel the darkest.
To love is breaking, becoming and breaking, yet again.
To love is knowing what one never thought, could exist.
To love is losing oneself,
And finding, what one never thought, one had.
To love is tearing apart,
and gelling into the One.
To love is like a burning candle…melting away, bit by bit by bit.
To love is like circling around the beloved, like a moth,
Giving away to the flame and becoming an ashed nothing-ness.
To love is to love to the smallest of pieces of one’s being,
until, nothingness vanishes into nothingness…
…And after days or weeks or months
When I wake up from my numbness
I think of you
And scribble a word or two
Sometimes I manage more
So then I write a letter to you
A long one
A letter with silent words
My letter resonates the tale of my life in between the silence of my words
But then before I finish my story
The life strikes again
And I put down my pen
To write it some other time…
And sometimes the only solace one can find
Happens to be, in the moving arms of a clock
…that ‘this shall pass too….’
I saw the lifeless body of the toddler in the arms of the hospital worker
Mud and blood mixed on the face of the child and his arms loosely hanging on the side
I saw two slightly bigger children running after the hospital worker
They too were covered with mud and blood, but looked ‘ok’
I looked into their eyes through the camera that captured their video
And the eyes of these children had questions and tears both
They mechanically described how they were playing outside and a bomb fell
In a blink the house came crashing down and the rubble had hit them
The little one of the two couldn’t say more
He just said, “My mother was inside” and fell silent and a tear casually fell off his eyes
I, being the ‘sensitive’ one couldn’t take more
With one slight move of the thumb I moved down to my timeline…
I know exclusivity is very important for humans
Especially when it is about love
About being loved
I am saying this because, I know
I know how it feels when all of a sudden the bubble of exclusivity we create in our head, bursts
When all of a sudden it dawns on us
That the song wasn’t shared with us exclusively
Or those words
Or the walks
Or shared sighs
So Baba when I haven’t been able to reconcile with that
How can I ask you to…
And yes, that makes me guilty
I miss too much, you know
Way too much
Of your smiles, giggles, laughs
Of your angst, tears and pains
I miss too much, you know
Of your day… of your life
And then I try to paint it in my head
And then I blame myself for what you are still not able to do
Eating a proper solid meal
Or potty training (partly because I don’t believe in training)
And I know you will get there too
But, you see
I miss too much…of you, Baba.