Mirage

“Each step I left behind

Each road you know is mine

Walking on the line ten stories high

Say you'll still be by my side”

I think of you often.

(I think of you always.)

Your presence remains affixed in the landscape of my head.

Your existence is something I wish to embrace as if it had ever not been a part of my being.

But time passes, people change and life goes on, and I remain standing where I am, living as if suspended in motion, rooted to the ground.

Would you care to put down roots of your own? Could you?

“When the sun sets we're both the same

Half in the shadows

Half burned in flames”

You wanted to see my scars. You wanted to run your gaze over them, trace their outlines with your fingers, wonder aloud at the history that caused them to appear.

But I was not the only one bearing any, was I?

You do not get to pull the scabs off, while hiding yours.

“We can't look back for nothin'

Take what you need say your goodbyes”

Your touch ghosts over my skin to this day.

I feel the weight of your arm resting against mine night after night.

But it all disappears in the first light of each day, of a world that you could never bear to be in.

“We're leaving the things we lost

Leaving the ones we've crossed

I have to make an end so we begin

To save my soul at any cost”

I wander away from everything I know and hold dear, in an endless hunt for a place I could call home.

And you had said to me once, “Home is where we are, remember?”. 

I try and hold on to those words while I continue to lay adrift.

But my journey takes me farther and farther away from you, and each word I write to you is taken beyond my reach forever.

How could I ever hope to find you where I struggle to find myself? 

[Hola, to anyone who is still reading this, I have managed to come back from the dead. Hopefully, I will keep writing in the months to come. Lyrics credit: Beautiful Crime by Tamer]

Languish

She sat by the window, gazing out as was her wont to do. Her gaze languidly searched the sky for patterns amidst the myriad hues that the clouds seemed to take on with the setting sun. The quiet chill of twilight brought about a strange stillness to her being, afraid even to breathe.

Lost in a reverie she was, yet alert enough to discern another presence in the room. Her gaze did not shift; she remained where she was.

Quiet, breathing. The hand barely touched her shoulder before it was taken away.  She didn’t look up, only murmuring a ‘yes’ to convey that she was listening.

She couldn’t miss the oddly half-sheepish, half –rakish smile in his voice as he asked, “So, what are you up to?”

And she smiled, despite herself. “Waiting for you, sir, so that I may be graced with your honourable presence.”

“Stop playing the princess.”

“Says the one who acts all high and mighty himself.”

“Oh, as if! I’m a person of humble means, you see…”

The mindless banter went on back and forth, while the twilight continued to fade, vestige by vestige.

There was this and there were other moments. Of unspoken understandings, shared insights and common inspirations. Her vehemence would cross paths with his anguish – the only time they would. Those few moments of togetherness,  revelling in the way they were so alike beneath the veneers.

Those few moments were all that she could allow herself, after all.

…

But they had more than those few moments, didn’t they?

Long talks, hands held, kisses stolen in the dark. The rare occasions where they willingly allowed inebriation to break their walls. Only to revert to their otherwise impenetrable fortresses, nursing old wounds, on the lookout for yet another battle which would, hopefully, not be their doing this time.

They were both fighting the same enemy, and yet unwilling to come together, preferring to be distant allies, keeping their endeavours as less intertwined as possible.

He dreamt of the one person he couldn’t be with; she grappled with her fear of never finding anyone else again. And as hopeless as these quests seemed, they were all they had to fight on for. Quests that brought them dangerously close to a single path, but it takes more than shared interests to keep one bound to the other, doesn’t it?

And that, the crucial element, was dearly missing.

For she reached out to him against both their wills, and his response, while comforting, was nonetheless marred by the bitter realisation that even that couldn’t be to her claim, let alone his heart.

It was another question - a question she refused to acknowledge – whether she truly wanted to claim him in any respect to begin with.

…

She leaned by the parapet, her gaze resting on the gently rippling waters of the lake, her body heaving with the measured breaths she forced herself to take. It had been a long, excruciating walk and climbing low hills worryingly proved a challenge to her decreased stamina. Her somewhat fragile health was on a long list of things she didn’t find to be all right. And as always, it was bound to give away to more pressing matters.

Matters which existed in her head. Anxieties and fears none too real, but acutely felt within the realm of her dreams.

It did not help that the only way she had known to fight them off, all these years, was through an anchor.  An idea, a motive…but mostly, a person.

Something she had failed to find well over a year now, the last attempt succeeding no better than the others.

Her eyelids fluttered to a close, her senses focused on taking in the sunlight that warmed her skin against the light breeze. She stilled herself to take in the moment as much as she could, knowing that moments like these were substitutes for the lack of a veritable safe haven, however poor.

What she didn’t anticipate was to feel a hand brush against her shoulder, starkly reminiscent of the previous times and unwillingly she looked up to see him standing there, the same slight smile gracing his countenance.

She thought she was dreaming.

"I’d say, what a pleasant surprise, but I’ll forego the pleasantries – the startled look on your face is a little humiliating, to be honest-“

“What are you doing here?” she cut in, having little patience for his ramblings.

“I could ask you the same, princess.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Can’t a person have a little peace and quiet some times?”

“Eh, no one’s denying you that,” he remarked, not failing to take note of her impassive expression which was only betrayed by impatience flashing through her eyes. Impatience crossed with anguish. “I know that look very well, you know.”

“I know you do.” And much as I may have wanted it to be, it’s none of your business.

“So tell me. Why are you here?”

By this time, she was already on her feet, almost shaking with antipathy. “How does it matter?”

He shot her a narrowed look, but said nothing. To which she almost smiled. Of course, not your place to say it matters, right?

The forced mirth was replaced by quiet seriousness as he asked again, “Tell me.”

But he remained where he was, and she was only too aware of the distance.  Mutual understanding be damned; I refuse to partake affection and concern from afar.

She crossed the gap and walked past him, but not before stopping to lay her hand on his shoulder. ”It’s nothing. You may go.” Time you did. 

Clash, Joust, Duel

And I sink to my knees, head lowered, hands clutching at the earth beneath in despair…my entire frame shaking with antipathy.

Revulsion ripples through every fibre of my being. I look at you with unmasked hostility as you walk towards me.

Head held high, hands jammed into pockets, a natural look of indifference intermittently crossed with pity on those loathsome, perfect features…you regard me coolly, a silent reproach in your gaze at my helpless state.

But the steel lies sharply against my palm.

And you tap your foot almost impatiently, awaiting my response.

In that moment, the wind dropped, time stood still…everything froze.

Except for the blade carving your being, in an explosion of vermillion.

…

“Kill me, why don’t you?”

She mutters to herself more than to him, as she leans against the window-sill, conveniently turned away from him

“…I will do no such thing,” he responds, perfectly nonchalant.

She grimaces, her fingers instinctively reaching towards her left shoulder, wrapped in gauze. She glances back to notice the light bandage spread across his forearm. He catches her gaze, calmly returning the look.

She grows even more infuriated.

“Calm down. You won’t get your way if you lose track so easily.”

“Darn right. You wait.”

“Empty, meaningless threats.”

“Cocky much?”

“I’d rather die than give in to you.”

“That’s it!”

And the sabre is pulled from her hands before she can strike, her hands caught behind her in a single grasp and he leans in to whisper, “Swordplay is like conversation, they say. You must learn to listen to your opponent.”

She drops to her knees and he stands before her, like the previous time.

Tower over me, your brilliance looming over my zeal like a dark shadow. And I shall always be but a mere silhouette, my sword not an expression of my spirit but an instrument of my regret.

Forever, forever burning in the inferno of my ardour…

He touches her shoulder with the sabre and she looks up, “Keep the fire alive but don’t let it consume you.”

…and so you dance and play to the same impatient rhythm, revelling in that violent upsurge of emotion before it gives way to complete stillness.

Velleity

You came into my room
With poison on your lips, didn't you?
It seems as though my mind and body
Both dissolve with your kiss
I hate myself as 19 years old
I hate myself as 19 years old

If only that were the case, she mused. Sure enough, she hated herself at nineteen years – not the pathetic onslaught of aging, nor the seemingly burdensome responsibilities of adult life that awaited her.

But the jaded, world-weary outlook that has been her bearing since quite some time. Talk about carefree days – she never had one, rather, couldn’t bring herself to be like that.

One year of living away from home – from that self-imposed hermitage where she was blatantly disconnected from the world in its entirety, so much so that her mind became her refuge and the vivacity of her thoughts remained unmatched by reality till date – and her carefully crafted realm stood in tatters, leaving her in limbo.

She still had nothing to come back home to.

Except, maybe, how even in the few remaining days at her disposal before this wearisome sabbatical would end, she’d still leave the door unlatched at night.

And relapse into dreaming the few hours of sleep which she allowed herself, those visions growing more disturbing yet cathartic in their wake.

Nonetheless, someone never failed to show up there as well.

…

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

She looked up from her work, one hand absently twirling a highlighter. Editing was mindless work after all, and mindless work was all she did these days – staying up till the early hours, unwilling to fall asleep.

The clock chimed four times as she finally got up to face him; her hollow, apathetic gaze tracing his indignant expression. She chuckled bitterly. “I hardly think 4 in the morning is the right time to have such life-changing conversations.”

“Says the one who’s up every night doing even more worthless work.”

“Don’t say it. You have no right to.”

He held up loose pages, torn and frayed but very much legible, marked in neat letters…her handwriting. And regrettably dated, she couldn’t help thinking. “How do you expect me to not the state the obvious and question the rest?”

“My fault for leaving things around like that. And, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of leaving you alone.”

“You’re not doing me a favour.”

“I might be doing one, once you’re done pushing me away.”

“I never asked you to stay in the first place.”

They continued to look at each other – he, rather coldly and she, with growing disbelief. She numbly took in his tall frame, the dark, brushed-back hair, the pale, angular face – contrasting with her ragged appearance, roughly cut hair falling wildly around her lean shoulders, nicotine-stained hands looking deceptively frail; her slender, enchanting form reduced to a mere shadow…

She shook her heads, wishing the whimsical thoughts away, aware of the grim truth that sunk in even more. “Why are you even here?”

“Ah, so you have wanted me to leave since a while anyway, isn’t it?”

She locked her sight with his – two pairs of dark eyes reflecting past glory, present despair, future uncertainty.

And she couldn’t bring herself to speak but nevertheless did:

“You’re free to go.”

He bristled at the words and she winced involuntarily, half expecting him to close the distance, take her by the shoulders and shout for all he was worth. Much as she even wished for that to happen, it was a line she would have no one cross.

A line which he was well aware of. “You have your way yet again,” he spoke calmly, no remorse about having to concede showing in his countenance.

Then again, it had never been about him.

 She turned away, pacing towards the door, almost whispering, “I wish I didn’t.”

…

She woke up with a start, her fingers clenched around the sheets and her breathing ragged. Dark strands clung to her damp cheeks. She grew increasingly furious at that, hating how sentiments got the better of her.

It was not over, though. Not by a long shot.

Dawn did little to light the surroundings, but she could still discern the telltale silhouette against the window, waiting.

As if on cue, he turned, sparing her one glance before raising his hands in defence. “Yes, I heard every word.”

She tried not to berate herself for her long-drawn somniloquy. “You knew it either way.”

He stepped into the dim light. “I will spare you the trouble.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You won’t have anyone else be that accommodating…not for a while at least.”

She looked away. “I’m yet to know whether it’s the right thing to do.”

“I trust you enough to move forward regardless of your decisions.”

She looked at him, surprised at his show of faith. He was willing to affirm to her intention of finding herself – in other words, a whimsical notion of societal detachment, a desire driven by disillusionment so severe, she didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Perhaps, that was all she was meant for – reverting to her own space after having tasted what was at best a burgeoning social life, albeit as shallow as it could get.

However, for her to consider him in the same superficial sphere, the thought was unnerving if not heartbreaking altogether.

He walked out of the room, the door left ajar, and she called after him, “But, you…you are still someone I wished would cross those lines, break those walls.”

All that remained were echoes of that unfulfilled wish. 

...

Opening lines - 19sai by Suga Shikao. And incidentally, my theme for this year. 

I would love to rant about how rusty my writing has gotten, but I'll let the readers judge that for themselves. Until next time. 

By the way, for the less discerning,  this title is a legitimate word.

A Harbinger Of Solace

It was that time of the year again.

She was perched upon a rickety swing, in a desolate park, alone. The surroundings were mostly in tune with her current disposition, only intermittently broken by quiet laughter emanating from a group of revelers cuddled around a campfire in a corner not too far from the deserted playground which was currently her domain.

The sun painted the environs in myriad hues of orange. The air was mercifully still but nevertheless had that chilling edge to it, which cut to the bones and was more often than not the portent of an even colder night.

The chains clanked against the worn frame as she swung to and fro, her eyes riveted upon the fading horizon. One hand clutched a journal and a pencil as she racked her brains in vain, trying to ignite the flame of inspiration which would finally allow her to do what she was supposed to be best at – writing.

But words escaped her, imagination failed her and the revered instruments of her art weighed on her being like stones.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke her reverie. She did not look up.

The adjacent swing strained under the weight of its new occupant and was set in motion. She glanced sideways to see the man equally preoccupied, apparently on the same quest as hers.

Two perfect strangers, they had spent the past two weeks in the same manner.

She chuckled – slightly, derisively. An open-ended invitation to either remain in silence or initiate a conversation.  He took the hint, his lips curving into a half-smile as he muttered, “What a morbid way to end the year.”

“I couldn’t have asked for more, you know.”

“With a couple of lovely lines to bring a closure, that would have been the case, yes.”

“We still have until midnight.”

“Until midnight and all I’ll be able to describe is this numbing cold, in not too flattering words.”

“Spare me the rhetoric – why don’t you go out and enjoy yourself like those people over there?”

“You and I both know we’re better than that, sure enough.”

“How morose. There’s more to life.”

“Which could be denied to us if we don’t get back on track, you see.”

“Worst case scenario – we’ll be dismissed.”

“Unlike you, I can’t live with that.”

And so the banter continued, each choosing to sidestep the looming question. How prolific they were in their art was left buried under their increasing impatience to write and submit a short story to a prestigious competition. It was important – for the money and a little for the pride.

The string of coincidences that led them here were also that easily brushed off.

“Your idea of a collaboration doesn’t seem to be working.”

“I never proposed it in the first place.”

“Are you telling me that I was dreaming of that up till now?”

“Cut it out! Not like I’d want to share the money with you.”

“That is if you get any in the first place.”

“Neither will you, if you keep harping that way.”

They both turned away, brokering an unspoken agreement of not bothering the other any further.

Her pensive mood resurfaced, the brief pleasure of an otherwise worthless repartee having but all gone. They didn’t have the hour to kill today; there would be no tomorrow.  Her hand moved unconsciously, scribbling across the pages, throwing together random words that might, just might paint a cohesive picture at the end of it.

“Stream of consciousness doesn’t work with us; I thought you knew that already.”

She looked at him, annoyance flashing in her eyes before giving way to resignation. “I can’t think of anything else.”

Abruptly, he stood up and extended a hand towards to her. “Let’s go and take a walk.”

She acquiesced. They began to circle the park, the air now crackling with the smell of burning wood. The glowing embers had been deserted a while ago and were dying. They chose to sit by the fire – she drawing up her legs and warming her hands over the flames while he gathered branches and twigs scattered around to build them up.

“I would be content to just write about this setting. A fire entrances me like nothing else.”

“‘The orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.’”

“I’m afraid that is exactly what is happening to us tonight.”

“Maybe,” he said, looking at her strangely. She returned the gaze with a question but he chose to focus on his notebook instead, scribbling furiously.

What the…? She was still stuck and he was writing away!

Fifteen minutes more of staring into the fire and she gave up. She didn’t want to spend the New Year’s Eve in chasing words and sentences – she wanted to go back home, to warmth and comfort even if it meant curling up with a blanket against the window, watching the fireworks and ushering in the New Year, alone.

(The competition be damned, meanwhile.)

She stood up to leave, glancing at the man before her, apparently blessed by the muse. He did condescend to give her an acknowledging nod, which was surprisingly more emphatic than pitying.

Walking away, she reflected upon how disappointed he was…sorry to see her leave but too proud to hold her back.

It takes a writer to identify solitude – chosen or imposed - in another. They can’t blossom otherwise.

…

Two days after that dissatisfying evening, she was back in the park. The settings had not changed and neither had the cold. Seated on her usual spot, the swing, she couldn’t help but feel as if her life was forever thwarted in anticipation of something to come, that elusive future that would finally allow her to start living.

But fate decided to surprise her, for once, when the same man who had been her silent companion for the past two weeks turned up besides her. To see him in reality than in her daydreams.

He handed over a single sheet to her without looking in her direction.

She smiled in spite of herself. “Muse not pleased enough to grant you a winning entry?”

“Shut up.”

She read. A story of a girl by a fire, an artist looking to kindle her own flame, the outpouring of which would be her tale to tell the world. Of a night sheltering two strangers in the cold. Of everything and nothing in particular.

Of how a writer never really needs a story to write; the ability to tell one is more than enough.

She looked up and smiled at him – the first, genuine smile she had shared with him, a gesture more personal than knowing his name.

Which she didn’t know, and neither did he.

But, they had an entire year (and perhaps even further) to know more of each other.

He took her hand and the deal was struck. And yet again, she couldn’t have asked for more.

...

Thanks to Hachiko for her help. ;)

A very Happy New Year to all my readers in advance. :)

Castle Of Hope

“I hope I won’t lose my heart in this game of gamble called love.”

She sits by the dormroom window, wondering.

Daydreaming is a luxury she cannot afford. Pending assignments and reports, daily studying already lagging behind…yet she doesn’t care.

(After all, caffeine is always there to rescue her.)

But the thought, the nagging feeling doesn’t go away.

She’s had her share of falling for people. More than experiencing the bliss and the pleasures of being in a relationship, it was insecurity and despair and admittedly, envy.

Having one’s heart broken is enough to lose faith in love. Still, people persist, even for their entire lives, either going to finally find someone or being left alone.

She’s one of them. And she won’t end up alone. It is her belief, her solace that will someday turn into reality.

What is the harm in dreaming?

Maybe being a writer by hobby does make one romantic…perhaps foolishly so. But then again, isn’t it the hope, the desire of loving and being loved by someone is what adds a certain essence to those otherwise ordinary words?

Sometimes, the mere prospect of such a future is enough.

And that is why, even with a love life that is alive one moment, dead the next, she will keep hoping. She will look forward to playing the game called love.

Even if it meant losing her heart. For eventually, love is nothing without surrender.

“I’d lose anytime. But, if I believe that I can do it, then I can do it.”

........................................................................................................

Written for my dear friend (and once writing colleague) Terry-May, who is and shall be my first overseas friend. Happy Birthday, Terry! I sincerely hope you like this. 


With this, I embark on a month-long hiatus. Shall be back once I'm done with the Boards. Till then, ciao! 

A Glimpse Of Fulfilment

Note: This was originally written as a fanfiction of Ayn Rand's We The Living. For readers not acquainted with the novel, think of it as original fiction, with Russian names, of course. :)

......................................................................................................................................

“Because we often love the man whom we torment,

 You, you, now you, only it should be the luck of my soul

  Come, follow me in the wonderland,

 Your dark eyes shine by the night!”

The song continued to grow hypnotic and mesmerizing as a perfectly pitched voice sang as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Rising in rhythm, it seemed to blend with the surroundings – the heavy fragrance of newly bloomed flowers lingered in the air and the soft breeze was laden with the refreshing scent of water – all of it as if taking me into a trance. For a moment, I had forgotten that I stood on the shore of a sprawling lake which disappeared into thick woods all around,

The breathtaking scenery however did not match up to the intoxicating effect that the voice had, so taken I was with it.

…So much that I couldn’t look away from the vision of beauty that Kira Argounova was – who merely stood feet apart from where I was.

And I, Andrei Taganov, stood frozen at my place. To think that I would meet Kira again…unimaginable.

The song ceased and life returned to my senses. And yet it seemed as if I had been seamlessly merged into the environ that Kira had created. She stood tall and slender, gracefully draped in soft pastel shades of crepe that fluttered in the breeze. Her tousled brown hair fell on both sides of her delicate neck that was stretched like a swan’s, as if she was laughing, rejoicing in the eternal bliss of the universe – adding to a demeanor so alive and carefree. Her grey eyes were full of joy and masked beneath them was an everlasting understanding of life and its mysteries. The lit sky was beyond her, giving her an almost angelic appearance and the shifting shafts of sunlight that streamed through the overlying foliage made those very eyes…glimmer.

…She did not smile. Her lips were set in a firm and yet yielding line. She did not move – time seemed to stand still , if only to immortalize the magnificent splendor – gentle, elegant and giving – that stood in the form of Kira.

I couldn’t bring myself to speak. However, that was exactly what she wanted me to do.

I would have been content to simply gaze into her eyes and relive the memories, the only happy memories of my life that I had shared with her. But as my eyes met hers, the impending storm beneath the calm startled me out of my reverie.

She raised her head in a long-drawn, mocking laughter.

“Oh, Andrei…do you even realize why you’re here?”

I was taken aback. However, I chose not to show my surprise. “Kira, I…”

She raised her hand. “Don’t bother. We both know why we are here.”

‘Here’. What did it mean? We were not in Petrograd. Hell, we were not even ‘abroad’ – the mystical place which partly accounted for risking our lives

Then where were we?

To see Kira before me…the fact in itself…

“…Kira! You don’t, you certainly don’t mean…”

She looked away, whispering. “I wanted to meet Leo again.”

She looked at me as I slowly approached her. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I tried to be as gentle as possible. “It’s all right. One doesn’t give up on loving even when it is no longer requited.”

Her eyes closed, Kira murmured. “It never was. Oh, Andrei, I…I couldn’t see...”

I tenderly held her in my arms. “Loving you was enough in itself. I willingly chose to make the sacrifice.”

She did not move. Her stance rigid, her head against my shoulder. Tears had begun to flow but I withstood the fact that they were not for me.

They never will be.

The scene rapidly changed as the light changed it colors and Kira seemed to be fading from my hands. Her purpose here was fulfilled.

As the light enveloped me, I held on to Kira, before letting go.

I took but a moment to reflect. All that we had done, sacrificed…resulted in nothing.  I gave up my position in the Party, only so that Kira could be with that wretched Leo Kovalensky again. I loved her but she loved him. Was it worthwhile in the end: going to all extents, giving up our lives, dying in the unfulfilled hope of being loved?

I knew the answer to my question as well as I knew how Kira would answer.

“Kira…I always have, do and will love you…my highest reverence…”

A fading smile was all that I got in response.

...........................................................................................................


Another note: The opening lines are the translation of ‘Song of Broken Glass’ – Kira’s favourite song in the novel - which is actually an operetta called Die Bajadere by Hungarian composer Emmerich Kalman. Yes, I can go to such extents for being original. ^^"

Unfulfilled Wishes

Fireworks lit up the sky. Cheers and yells resound through the air.

She’s sitting by her window, gazing at the revelry all around. Cold and alone, she wraps her arms around her knees, sighing.

Memories flit behind her closed eyes.

I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand

The place glimmering with candles, she twirls around, her flowing red dress glowing in the dark. She spins and he catches her, drawing him to her, whispering the promises of a lifetime.

A year ago. Seems like another life altogether.

This fire burns
I realize that nothing's as it seems

Oh, how she loved that song, and still does. She was never for dancing, but that night…aroused in her feelings she couldn’t have expressed through words.

Her back arched, supported only by his strong hands and he leans in to kiss her as the fireworks set off.

Happy New Year, my love.

She could have lived forever in that moment, but, isn’t it just another human weakness to try and attempt to make something so transient eternal?

The memory of that beautiful New Year’s is not enough to see her through this one.

But you knew I loved you,
We could have shown them all,
We should have seen love through

The sky still glitters and shimmers. She couldn’t be bothered with wishing people at this very hour.

The silence is just too overbearing.

It is with sheer willpower that she resists from calling him, not willing to further shatter the illusion. The illusion that it’s still the same, that any moment he would come home, greet her and everything will be all right again.

Strange that I was wrong enough,
To think you'd love me too.
I guess you were kissing a fool,

Why didn’t they dance to this song?

You must have been kissing… a fool.

...................................................................................................................................

Most of my New Years' are spent alone, but not in this depressing manner. Oh well, but creativity finds its own way.

Hoping that everyone's had a good beginning to this year. :)

Lyrics credit: Sting's Desert Rose and George Michael's Kissing A Fool.