More often than I know, I find
myself rambling about on the dusty, hazy, murky streets of life. The ones,
where the ferociously strong winds of time, blows into my ragged face the sands
of a raging storm, comprising of dreams long broken and a life once lost.
Burning my eyes, and obscuring my vision and any clarity. I move from person to
person and from people to people aimlessly, for want of warmth and comfort, for
want of catharsis, of peace and life, of love and passion. When the fire that
should burn inside of me, comes out to engulf and burn me out instead. When the
calmness within takes the shape of a dense cold mist, that shudders the mind
and the body. When the wounds of distant past split wide open, like a deep gash
on wasted flesh. The ones which I had hoped would heal, to give me character
and strength. It is then, that I want the touch, which would lift me from my
torment. I stand alone on these streets,
waiting for my deliverance; with my eyes closed and my hands held forward.
Waiting and wanting, for you to move me away from my agony.
I wait with my eyes wide shut….
To suddenly see you staring right back at me. I see you in the crowd, in this
melee of mindless hustle; where the only person that makes sense is you. I
gravitate to you, like the light breeze that sets in with a musky, soft
drizzle.
You place your hands on mine and the
tenderness of your touch stirs my soul deep within my body. It is not your
words that move my mind, but the feel of your hands on mine. When you lightly
place then on me, you bring along the care and warmth of your feelings pent
inside. You invoke within me the want that I had been seeking to soak my soul
into; like a much awaited shower on a dry and parched earth.
I break down into million pieces
when you touch me; each and every piece waiting and wanting to become alive by
the feel of your hands. I wish to capture this moment within the sand-glass, so as
to keep turning it around, over and over again. How I wish to keep holding you,
to feel your touch, every hour and every second of my otherwise miserable life.
I once had a dream. In this dream
I saw a white flower, surrounded by a soft sparkling glow. I knew then that if
I could touch this flower, I could feel the bare blue cold waters of a vast
ocean on my fingertips, I could feel the warmth of a soft orange glow within
the palms of my hands, I could feel the mighty winds blowing high above on the
mountains, and I would then touch the depth of my bereft heart.
