When New Things Happen In Life, What Do You Do? Depending On The Happening You Either Become Happy Or

he thinks he gave me scars,

scratched the old ones.

he has not given me tears, because all he has given me is  happiness beyond words

the intensity of your love is what brings me closer to you, closer to your love and beyond all to life

I know I cried. I know I should not have. 

but that’s what i am. 

tears are my mates and sadness my pal. 

you have not brought them to me, they stayed from before.

I am healed not from what happened today, but I am healed from my old scars, not by time but by your love.

so my love, don’t take the blame, take credit for bringing me back to life,

coz, i owe this to you and your love

Yay! Its my birthday

I'm constantly struck between yesterday and tomorrow losing today. I'm struck between the old me and the future me not knowing what I am now. I'm struck in this vicious circle getting lost everyday and try to find a way out through small things everyday....

A long ride, Sufi songs and a lot of people brought this thought out on a moonlight night....

As mothers, she held her close,

Trying to feed by milking her blood

She was more than happy, a little more confused

Euphoria maybe or post pregnancy hormones

She was scared to let go, the baby was so tiny and fragile…

 .

He came in, a little late, hurried to see if his beloved was okay

Yes he was happy, but more worried I guess

He held her close, and apologized

Asked her whether she was happy or not

 .

They both looked at the baby, happy and content

This seemed to be a moment that could be captured

 .

It’s been years since then, I look up at the picture

My mom telling me what that day meant

I have heard this story a hundred times, but each time she says it a different way

 .

Sometimes I see her telling me that story with so much happiness that I wish he was around

And yet other times there is so much hatred I am glad they aren’t together…

 .

And yet, when he tells me the story I see pain as to not having spent enough time with me

 .

I don’t know whether to hate them both or love them

Either way I seem caught in an endless cycle

...

I have that one person in life to whom I can be me and still be confident that he wont judge.

Well thats what I believe everytime I meet that person.

That one person changes with time.

Sometimes it's you

And yet other times its him or her or her

Everytime I end up talking hours together

Not leaving the smallest detail of what happened in the day

I fear that he would get bored

That he would not feel anymore.

Today I could sence that he was getting tired of me being excited of the same thing again and again

Maybe I should stop because

Maybe I get too excited about petty things

But I thought he would understand that it means the world to me.

I never thought I would say this for him because till yesterday I had something else to tell.

Yet one more time people have proven that they cant be what they promise to be

And all those promises starts to flow with the rain leaving me all back to square 1.

Thinking what went wrong this time

The more you start gazing at the sky the more stars you see. The more you talk to a person the more they understand. The more you be you the more people like you. The more you give time for others the more the give you. It all starts with you

My thoughts on a starry sunday

I grab the tissue box next to me as I weep, while she says she was there just for him and doesn't tell him how much she loves him, because she loves him to let go. I cry. While he says the wrong name at the alter I cry because that's not who he's meant to be with and I cry.

My phone beeps, it's the reminder telling me to write. I close my laptop grab my notebook and stare at the empty page.

I think of what makes me cry, as that's what I'm supposed to write about and I have no clue what makes me cry.

I think of my abusive father, the assaults I've faced, and nothing brings a tear. I think of my first love and how he cheated on me, and go on to think of all the love I've lost and still not a tear.

I stare at the empty page, thinking of lost love and lost childhood, and nothing makes me sad. I've grown hostile to them all.

I give up. Close the book, and that's when I hear the Azan at the distant corner, along with the prayer announcing the Eid tomorrow.

It's been 8 years since I've been home for Eid, I search for my prayer mat and dust the Quran. I'm not religious at all, but the only time I pray is just twice a year, that's the least I can do for some biriyani, and moving out, that's the closest I have felt to home. The azan is what makes me home, it reminds me how my granny rushes to go pray as soon as she hears it; it reminds me of the eagerness I and my little brother used to have during Ramzan to break the fast. It's the closest I feel to home because the only part of childhood I remember till today is my grandpa coming to pick me up from my school, and going to the mosque nearby to pray. It still is my grandpa's mosque to me while he is now buried there, it has become his. The wait to pray tomorrow is what makes me drop a tear, and that's when I realize, the Azan giving me the distant memory of home is what makes me cry.

I set the room for prayer, grab that notebook with the empty page, start writing with tears filling my page and go back to sleep.

Image from @a-small-startup

I miss the feeling of being home.. I miss mommy and the comfort of being around her. I miss the two little brothers I have around whom I feel so responsible. I miss the food, the late night long talks about everyone I know and don't know in the distant family, I miss being so comfortable in a place though I can't be myself.

I miss the feeling of home.

I miss having a place called home.

I miss the feeling of home.

I miss waking up to the aroma of coffee that's so delicious coz it's never the same elsewhere. I miss the chaos over what's for lunch and deciding on something silly yet so delicious.

I miss the feeling of home.

I miss having to greet all the guests who come home, asking the same things over and over again, trying to remember how I know them, only to realize I have never met them.

I miss the feeling of home.

I miss feeling needed, important and worthy somewhere at some point of time, my granny so proud of what I'm doing that she keeps boasting about it to someone I don't remember meeting, over the phone.

I miss the feeling of home.

I miss having to wake up early coz it's the last day home as my train leaves that night to a city I call mine, having to go back mommy wants me to spend some time with her.

I miss the feeling of home.

I miss the clutter clatter in the kitchen, packing food for me for the night journey, and pickles and snacks to last the next six months. The confusion of what to take and what not to take, to decide between food and cloths in my luggage. I miss the questions my brothers ask as to why I need to leave early as I just came a week before, the constant nagging of when it'll all get over and I'll always be home. I miss the smell of home, the feeling of sitting in that couch and the aroma of that morning coffee.

I miss the feeling of home

I miss having a place called home

I miss the feeling of home.

“Giving you pain is not the only way life knows to make you suffer. Sometimes taking the pleasure out of you will suffice.”

lsr