The Veil

Wearing the veil
It strikes yet again
Agony and Pain
Are now the order of the day

The clock goes
Tick- tock, tick -tock
And here again, is the dreadful knock
Appears this time with out the veil

So strong.
So evil.
So harsh.
No words.
No heart.
All malice.
It strikes and strikes.
Till pulp remains
of what was once called a charmed Life.

Sleep

Nestled in the nook of his neck and shoulder

I watch the pale moonlight

Trickle through a mesh of the leaves

To fall on the one, who I love and hold

The moonlight on the perfect lines of his face

The shadow of the leaves falling like silent rain drops all along his body

The calmness of his rhythmic breathing

Take me a to land, where I sleep.

In the harbour of the stream

She sat by the trickling stream
and dreamt of the sea
of the water
the breeze
the scent
the sound

So real it was
she believed the stream
was the sea

In the window of her dream
she saw it all
the vast expansive never ending blue
the dancing little waves
where her being touched the sea
the soft mushy sand
beneath the soles of her feet

Sitting beside the trickling stream
she was at the sea

So lost she was in the sights and the sounds
of the dream
she forgot the tiny little ant
a little to big for its size
that moved a bit too fast
only to plant a little kiss
on the soles of her feet
that sat bare on the dried leaves

Ouch! she screamed
realised where she was
Cursed the little big ant
And never dreamt of the sea.

The Run

For the last 100 days or so all I was waiting was for this week.

Like a runner preparing for a marathon, I trained.

Pushed myself over and beyond knowing that this is my test of faith and love.

I endured. And smiled.

Despite a million and half worries, despite stress to the point where I could not sleep.

I had hope.

That kept me going on.

That pushed me each time, I was tired and wanting to break free from the the tedium.

I had longing.

Longing.

Through all my troubles, just the thought that, a little more and I will be reunited with my life.

I was tired and hurt and angry. And cursed the road, the people, the weather, the world for doing this to me and pushed myself even harder and longer for letting the world do it to me.

Give up, I did not, I pushed and nudged and prodded, my being, my soul to run harder and reach the finish line to see life and love. And just live and die in the same moment.

(With the gift of hindsight, which is like the angle of parallax, I tilt to assume that image at the end of the finish might as well be a mirage.)

Now, as clock ticks and seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, I want to stand in the middle of the two hands of the clock and stop it. Stop time.

Cause now I have no hope, no longing, no desire. No strength to see what lies ahead. Let alone face it.

All I have is this vague sense of weird hollowness, as though some one scooped out a major chunk of life out of me and I still stand, seemingly full.