Veni. Vidi. Amavi.

We Came. We Saw. We Loved.

I.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he said, with his young energy bubbling to its zest.
“First day of office?” she asked, veiling her familiarity to its answer under the cover of the very question.
His eyes widened out of bewilderment for her experience as he confirmed her belief.
She went on with telling him what her name was, and described herself by her schooling and job profile. While leaving the office, she looked at him, wishing that his energy never vanishes.

It was weekend, but she hit back home at her rock bottom, not knowing what lay ahead of her. After feeding the family and completing her daily course of work, she walked towards her room wondering if she would ever be able to know herself beyond that description. This very uncertainty of never being able to, was crumbling her heart. Tugging the sheets, she hemmed her body into a foetus, as tears forced themselves out of her. In the safe custody of the vicious blue of that night, she sobbed.

II.

“So you save lives?” The girl smiled.
His face, covered in grey beard, twisted into confused expressions as he broke his deep silence and reassured himself, more than her saying, “Yes, I am a doctor in practice”.

It is sad how we choose to feel about ourselves as Doctors, Professors, Advocates, Architects, Actors, Public Accountants and Ministers, and not as humans. Not as people who save lives, people who help human generations succeed, people who help bring harmony, people who make manmade wonders happen, people who make other people happy or people who make it easy for all of us to live together. It is sad how the means of living have superseded the feeling of being alive. Sad, how we have become so indulged into this urge of defining ourselves, when we could go on with living to what we really are with no limitations. Sad, how the sound of breathing, the crinkles by the eyes, the curling motion of lips, wet eyelashes, pulsating nerves, pounding chests, hormonal imbalances, adrenaline rushes, cries of joy, words between gaps, silences between words, among other things that are tangible and have life, have reduced their meanings to lifeless and intangible labels like Doctors and Public Accountants . Sad, how life and energy despite being alive, present around everyone, all the time, fails to make its presence felt. Sad, how we need the blue of the night to curtain us while we can be human and perform humanly things like crying and repatriating back to our real selves, the persons we have been underneath for all our lives. All through the day, we indulge into the false convictions; hide our sad faces behind our empty smiles and then, covered by the blue veil of night, humans and babies sleep alike.
Just like the Cinderella story nights bring along a magic with themselves, we can be ourselves, we can be humans, just like babies, we can talk our hearts out, cry our eyes out. Then, the morning comes and we turn into pumpkins, again!

VENI: We Came.

Humans are nothing without other humans. Many people won’t buy it. However, no one can deny that humans are made out of other humans. We come out of love, for, the human who goes through a prolonged period of mental and physical anguish, never, for once complains about the enormous turmoil of bringing you to life, as the joy of giving life to you supersedes the enormous pain that she had undergone. You are blessed with love, even before you could know what love is. Therefore, we must appreciate the fact that everyone is born out of someone. That everyone has at least once been loved.

VIDI: We Saw.

We all work so that we, the carriers of love, can persist; but at the end of the day, no one can deny that love centers our lives. For, Love is what keeps us alive. What I feel is that life is too underrated a concept; because everyone has it, no one values it. No one cares to see how finite it is. Most of us believe in keeping ourselves, our love and our finite lives reserved for our family, or, at the most, for our friends; shutting our doors to the energy, the life, that surrounds us. Without knowing what we are stopping from seeping in, we stare blankly at it like we have seen it all, when no one has seen it all. But the ones, who have seen even bits of it, cannot undervalue the endless sight that it has got to itself.

AMAVI: We Loved.

No matter how much they deny, even the people who claim to not love anyone must have loved at least one person in their entire lives. I don’t think there has been even one person who has never loved. All of us grow up with people who want someone to love them in a certain way. But it is beautiful how some people want someone, not to love them, but whom they can love, for taking love is an art that not everyone can master. We all say that we want to be loved, failing to acknowledge that it can be hard to take. Despite all of these complications, it is beautiful how we can love each other, especially, when we love with our broken hearts.

We don’t know why life was given to us. We don’t even know when it will be taken away from us, for, one day we are all going to be transformed from the sound of breathing, the crinkles by the eyes, the curling motion of lips, wet eyelashes, pulsating nerves, pounding chests, hormonal imbalances, adrenaline rushes, cries of joy, words between gaps and silences between words, to stones. To stones and dust and ashes. All I know is that, right now, life has been loaned to me. I don’t want to deceive myself into the false conviction of owning it or having it for a very long time, for it belonged to someone or something before I had it and will belong to someone or something after I have had it. So, while I have it, I want to make sure that I live it to the fullest. I want to be certain that I came, I saw and I loved.

Advertisements

Two Smokers

Under a starry night,

Down the old deserted road,

In the ruins of a tavern,

Two smokers smoked.

 

While soft paper edges burned,

Souls were set free,

Of the mind’s worries

There was not even one to feel.

Eyes were awake,

Thoughts had slept,

Memory had returned,

Heart had wept.

 

To one, asks another,

“Why do you still come here?

It’s gotten old, it’s all broken;

Got yourself no place elsewhere?”

 

Follows a voice with soaring fumes,

“In the brokenness,

Of this place,

There is a solace.

Yesterday, I bought a mirror,

It broke today.

In the cracks of it,

I saw myself. Broken.

Into distinct shapes.

So here I rest, in brokenness,

Homely brokenness.”

 

“Oh, boy” smirked the listener,

“You must be high,

Don’t let this smoke get you,

Like it has got me.

It got all of me.

Once I was a spirit,

Full of life, high on smoke.

But then, I became full of ash,

Low on life, in and out,

And I thought who am I,

To question God’s great plan,

So I let this smoke,

Consume me.”

 

Cough, cough, cough,

Coughingly, both laughed,

Making sense of each other.

So, they stopped talking.

And tried floating on the air.

Just like an overhead cloud of smoke.

“Ya know man”, broke the silence,

The broken fellow.

“Everything that’s in pieces today,

Will be used to build tomorrow.

Ya know, build buildings,

build cars, build people.

‘Cause, nothing’s wasted.

It’s just time and place,

One always searches the other,

And when they meet,

Things get themselves all right.”

 

“Sure do, young fella”

Spoke the lowly spirit,

“Ask a man, who doesn’t know,

All the things you said.

Sure do things fix ’em up.

You see those stars?

They were a bunch of crap too.

At a time.

And see ’em now.

They rule the mighty skies.

So, yeah. You got the truth.”

 

Both laughed and passed out.

So did the night.

So did the smoke.

And so did the inner fight.

This Man Walks

This man walks and walks for no reason. He never had anyone to give him directions. He could never go back home, for he had none. A man told him once, “Kid, keep walking. It’s always better to be a mile ahead of where we stand.” And truth be told, that really was the only thing anyone ever told him.

So he walks now. He walks without aim, without reason, he walks in every season. Just to be a mile ahead of where he stands. He walks with the burden of ages upon him. He walks with the memories of the walls he has left behind. He walks with the burden of the streets he has left behind. He knows there’s no going back. Life does not go a full circle for everyone. And yet he walks. He walks for the blood that flows within.

He walks in search of freedom. In search of life, love and beyond. In search of purpose. To live a life well-lived. He walks to see what lies beyond closed doors. To see what’s on the other side. Yes, this man walks. He walks with the burden of ages bestowed upon him. He walks to be a mile ahead. He walks to respect the words of a dying man, to respect a promise to be a mile ahead of where he stands. And now he walks forevermore.

Your poem belongs only to you!