I  am not getting enough time to weave the tales and string the words into verses.Caught in crossfire of my thoughts I learn to live with tests , for they visit me often.  Sometimes the little light that slips through the curtains forces me to see the darkness within me, darkness that conceals all that is there- happy or sad – good or bad . There is a stirring within me . I don’t know if to call it  desire or love. I am learning too as I travel from the light black to dark white , from concealed to revealed. I look for answers, often looking in vain. Burn myself in the midst. 

I heard an echo of a love story in my dreams. It came from somewhere deep within dressed in rags and patches. I decided to put some wild flowers in its hair, take its hand and walk into the sunset.

Somewhere between his sunset and her sunrise they lost their way.


They  fell asleep among words ~ woke up among them and in between that falling asleep and waking up, love blossomed


Maybe he saw the fragility and neediness in her eyes. Her craving and hunger for love. Maybe he saw himself in her and before he could understand, their world merged.


Their world  became a  collage . Just like life. Mismatched patterns, random thoughts, so many textures, so many layers, a  million stories all held together by one single idea   – Love.


She was delirious with that delicious, delicate, intoxicating feeling that seeped through her. She was getting irresistibly drawn towards him.  He left her in traces  that are there yet not quite; like a half-revealed secret, tantalizing. Like crushed violets on white satin sheets, the tell-tale signs were difficult to hide. And then. the spell broke.


She picked on his words. Honey suckle sweet. Sparkling star dust . She watched them break at sundowns. Dissolve in darkness. Melt in tears. White lies. As she watched it flow, life played ever new tunes. Shadows began to fade as his desires , the night drove them apart. Her night or his ? How does it matter .


He never saw the tempest rising in her heart. The disconnect could not have been deeper. She the dreamer . He the cynic. The moon that revealed his face to her each lonesome night and ignited her soul meant nothing more than a planet to him waning and waxing at will causing mood swings in silly romantics. What intrigued her was,  how could she see his soul beneath all those layers? He would call her. She would come. Then he wouldn’t know what to do with her.  She would then turn away, caught between a wanting , a longing, a  hoping, a need fulfilled and another awaiting, and dip her quill in her bleeding heart and write verses. there is a certain beauty in melancholy.


How can one ever be loved any other way but completely ? Why the pull? Why so hesitant ? She wondered. Maybe she missed the finer points of being the other woman.


She wanted to run barefoot into his arms

He gave her wings


He- Seems you aren’t sleeping well.

She- umm, midnight hunger pangs

He- lol, you should keep a cookie jar next to bed
He again missed the point.


“Why are you unhappy?” he asked.

“Because I’ve had vision of something beyond my reach, and I know I can’t live without it,” she said.


Sometimes one just knows one’s place. Outside the periphery.


Then she wrote to him of longing.

Of desire unmet.

Of yearning unfulfilled.

She wrote to him about Him


with a heart full of love she came to his door and through the window she saw his world, the deep laugh, the whiskey voice, the love and warmth. Familiar and yet so unfamiliar. She smiled, turned away and took a flight into the deep pathless night sky. Suddenly glad to have those wings.


and then she descended on a cliff’s edge facing the ocean and bared herself to the universe. The voice rose from deep inside her as she sang more sweetly than anyone on this earth and as the thornbird impales itself on the longest sharpest thorn and dies rising above its own agony to outlive the lark and the nightingale, she pierced her heart. The universe watched quiescent.



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