Like the tip of a needle stained in blood houses a million units of life. Each unit so stable- unmoving – but so alive. Always in motion. Yet never letting surface the struggle of the positive and the negative within. Only peaceful coexistence for one to see. The opposites, the anti-forces forever trapped in such proximity. Yet never questioning their fate. Ceaselessly working to resort calm and order in all they are part of- The flowers your admirer sent you and the tears you wasted when young, first love walked out and left you a broken heart.
Born out of nothing and vanishing into thin air. Dying without as much as a sigh. They are everything and almost nothing in the same string of reason. They are the way she smells and the skin draped on her body like the most elegant, custom- made pashmina, priceless. They are the words you etch and the many questions unasked, just left unattended – floating in a myriad of other unfulfilled desires. They are the promises you made and the burning scars it stamped on the canvas of her memory. They are the unsettling eyes that haunt your every dream and the ring you slid on her finger – fake, like your many promises- not kept.
Sometimes, I wish we were the cell. You, the matter. I, the anti force. So close that we could be one. But far enough to not repel the other away. Opposites that do not attract. We would work together to never let our struggle be seen. Resolving all conflict without a ripple of disorder on the surface. Our bonds made of thoughts or just thin air. We’ll be in everything and in nothing. Uncared for, like the backbone of life. Taking each other for granted.
But were we to separate, if ever such occasion came..we will melt to nothing but set on fire the entire meaningless universe with us. Destroying, the way we created. Life, this is. Death, this is.
Were you not planning to offer me your seat on the train I missed helping the old man with directions?
And I was sure we’d meet at the Seven Sisters concert that I bunked to stay cooped up in my room filled with the scent of someone who hasnt been here..all alone but for Sinatra to take me all the way to Paaradise.
Didn’t we cross eachother on the subway just yesterday? But you were with your brigade of friends and I was in the middle of a bad, bad hair day.
Or the week before when you were too preoccupied passionately discussing politics for tea in the cafeteria and me, wrinkling my nose up another sneeze.
I’d bet you frequent that chicken corner we dont eat at. My roommate is Vegan.
When it rained and I wouldn’t dare walk out sans an umbrella. You were waiting for me by the tea stall on the road to dance to that Bollywood song about the thing with love and rains.
You are petrified of blood and needles, aren’t you? And of all the professions in all the worlds, I picked medicine.
On that test, You needed my help on the solitary question I wasn’t sure of.
Or maybe you didn’t.
Just the way I did not look at these signs with enough deliberation.
Sometimes with a tad too much hope..so turgid… if your thoughts saw mine, my fantasy would burst right out and undress the many sleepless nights weighing down my eyelids for you to see.
On other days too flaccid…without even a sliver of hope of running into the person with a shameless ball of golden light shining over his left shoulder, the person I am not a fraction, a part of but the whole. Since forever and towards eternity. The person, as some people from some age would know, is a Soulmate.
If my voice swelled with emotion gets caught up in your unkept locks of hair, Come and Find me.
Or make me find you lest its too late. I dont want to end up buying any shoe for the simple excuse that the right pair for me was stacked up too far and too high in the store. Dare you pluck my song out of your hair and send it free in the hope that it finds me someday and brings me home to you. Don’t you leave “us” to Destiny. Trust me, she has no idea what we’re looking for. And you know who she runs with?