Monday, January 27, 2014

But Fixed Are Those Who Are Broken

She lay down on her back, staring at ceiling, trying to find something up there that could make her feel less miserable. She always did that, as if, the ceiling knew just the right words that could make her feel better. The ceiling, although, didn't help much in her quest of finding the answers. She searched every corner of the whiteness staring back down at her, so expressionless, so emotionless that it made her envious of the ceiling. Why couldn't it feel like her? Ceilings don't feel miserable, do they? Did anyone ever get mad at the ceiling? When was the last time a ceiling got called 'mean'? She yearned for it to speak. But speak, it could not. So she turned to her side, staring at the curtain. So still it was, it appeared the curtain was afraid to move. Just like she was afraid of.. wait, what was she afraid of? Expectations? Yes! In this life where people come and become a part of your life, they start getting to have expectations from you. And that was what she was afraid of. Expectations. Expectations that people had from her. She was still, just like the curtain. Maybe the curtain was still because it didn't want to feel miserable for not coming up to the expectations of people to stop the light from coming in. Maybe it thought that if it'd move, the light will manage to escape inside the room somehow. And if the light would manage to peek inside, it'd kill the point of having the curtains drawn. It'd kill the expectation of the person sitting inside the room. How perfectly is this curtain managing to keep up to what's expected of it, by keeping itself still. How hard can it be, she thought? She didn't want to move now. Even her breaths were coming out so perilously, as if they were afraid of disturbing the curtain's stillness. She yearned for the curtain to speak. But the curtain had to remain still. So she turned to her other side. A door. Been there, never trying to run away. Doing its duty as perfectly as a door can. She could have been a door. But she had to be a human. She could have been anything. But she ended up being a human. She could have been an emotionless ceiling. Or a perfect curtain. Or a door.
Maybe because they don't have to fix things if something goes wrong. Instead, they get fixed.

Wait, she didn't want to get fixed, either.

Monday, January 13, 2014

A Conversation

"What's wrong?"
"I said, what's wrong?"
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because it seems like something's not right."
"Well, yeah."
"So what?"
"What's not right?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because you don't look fine. I don't like seeing you this way."
"I don't look fine because something's not right?"
"Yeah. That's just what you said! That there's something wrong."
"You said that, not me!"
"Okay, it doesn't matter who said it. Just tell me what's wrong, already!"
"How can my telling you about it can make the wrong right?"
"It won't make it right. But I could help, you know."
"You can't!"
"You never know."
"I know. You can't."
"Try me?"
"Can you fix things?"
"Pretty much, yeah. Did you break anything?"
"How do you fix things?"
"It takes time, and intricacies. But the end result is worth it."
"How long does it take?"
"It depends on what fixing material are you using and what is it that's getting fixed."
"What's the best fixing material. The best you've ever used?"
"I have this fixing material that makes everything look as good as new. Not a trace of fault does it show!"
"Does it hide the marks or scratches?"
"Almost, yeah."
"Did you ever try to fix a mirror with it?"
"You broke a mirror?"
"You didn't answer my question!"
"Well, you can't fix a mirror. But don't worry, I'll get you a new one."
"You can't."
"Why? How expensive can it be?"
"It's priceless."
"Where did you get it from?"
"From life."
"Well, that's weird! Why didn't I ever get a mirror from life?"
"You have it. We all have it."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I broke mine. You don't realize you have it, until you see its shards picking on you!"
"I'm not getting you."
"That's sad to hear. Just an honest advice, take care of your mirror! It's very fragile. Not everyone is worth having it. And next time if someone asks you if you can fix things, think again before you answer that question. Now if you excuse me, I have some shards that need to be pulled out."

Saturday, January 4, 2014

That Strange Little Lady

She picked the pen again today
Yes, I saw her
That strange little thing
Immersed in her desk
Lost in her thoughts
Fingers moving
Alphabet scrawling on the paper
Like a storm
Right on the paper
Right from her young heart
That strange little heart 
With pain, unseen
But not unfelt 
Just another day
What makes her stay
What makes her fray
The reason for her dismay
I saw her again
Drowned in her sorrow
Has she foreseen an empty tomorrow?
Immersed in the cup of her hands
No tears, no fears
What then makes her eyes look so hollow?
She's strange
That little lady
I wonder why
But if she weren't strange
She would never have
Caught my eye
And the sky
It sees her plight
Her very own might
Whatever caused her blight
If I could, I would've snatched that
But it's like her jewel
A precious gem
Never does she let anyone 
See its hem
A mystery in her own
A kingdom she runs on the throne 
Of her soul
That strange big soul
And that precious little lady
I saw her again
Strolling alone
In the fields, no merry
What a gloomy January
Is she waiting for the night to fall
So she could see the fireworks
Dance in her eyeball
Throw their spell
On her soul
Like she once told me
How much she adored them
When she was not a lost soul
Who screamed out through scribbling the words
That strange little lady
Yes, I saw her again.