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She sees… "The Other Side (of Splintered Dreams)"

June 30, 2005

Amber liquor, frigid and numbing, burns a trail down my throat, as I toy with a framed photograph of you—all of nineteen, your lips curved in a warm smile, eyes sparkling with a candour at once beguiling and alarming, you are completely unconscious of the picture you present.

Did you know that I used to dream of twisting the auburn tendrils at your nape round my little finger and drawing you close, so close that I could feel your breath, rapid and warm, on my collar-bone. How often I dreamt of tracing your honey lips with mine, of lying skin to skin just feeling you next to me. And in those dreams we lay hours together, listening to each other’s heartbeats, creating music without sound.

And poetry, the tie that binds us still—is it not ironic that all that’s left of us is all that there was to begin with? I do not know when the two became synonymous, poetry and you. Long before I knew you, I’m certain, maybe even before I knew myself.

Cynicism wasn’t always my bed-mate, but I’d locked away my dreams, up in the attic where they gathered dust till you came by. With you, there was never a need to explain why one heartbeat followed another with such rhythmic regularity—you knew, because you heard the same words and saw the same notes that sang through my soul. The metaphysical universe celebrated, indeed orchestrated, our union. Down below on earth, however, distance and conventions kept us apart.

In all honesty, you scared me because you represented all my soul craved for but was too apprehensive to reach out to—love, poetry and faith, all three merged in you. In a touchingly youthful manner, you said:
“Hope, then, and reach out your hand
Touch your dream, fashioned from sand”

How could I refuse to be drawn in when you added, timid and unsure:
“A cracked idol, or just a bit stained,
Perfection flawed, as fate ordained
Flawless from afar, easy to glorify—
Up close, would you still care to try?”

Yes, moi bijoux, ‘up close is where life resides and near is too far besides’. But we’re dreamers, the two of us—our greatest triumph is also our one unpardonable flaw. Our ability to see things the way they should be, and not the way they are, robs us of the foolhardy courage that action demands. We are chained by our gifts, to dream of faith without trust, poetry without intense emotion, love without commitment and life without pain.

Ours is a perfect love…….gone wrong. All it will take to recapture our destiny is a single phrase of love, and every ounce of strength we possess to fight a disbelieving world. And time, distance, age and conventions—they will be rendered insignificant, as you say, when we capture the bliss of eternity in a moment of perfect communication……..

The choice is ours.

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2 comments

  1. you have here a great blog. some really deep thoughts. I have just read a couple of your posts yet, will try and read more in the coming days.

    just wanted to drop a line for a little encore.


  2. thank you sreekesh…

    encore it is.. 😀



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