~the broken leaf~
I was, once, like an autumn leaf.
Detached from the branch.
Lying forlorn on the unclean earth
Among other broken leaves,
Who would look at me with pityful eyes,
The way they looked at their bleak future.
There were times when i would look up at my home.
The place where i once belonged to,
Where i was beautiful and full of life.
Whenever the winds blew,
I would watch the branches reciprocating to the melody.
Swaying and dancing.
Those lush green leaves, rustling and creating a beautiful harmony all together.
How perfect they looked.
And then i would look at me
Pale. Fragile. Vulnerable.
Surrounded by people who could do nothing but grieve over my life.
And then, when I'd lost all hopes to survive.
When i was ready to be crushed under the feet of a passerby,
One fine day, in the scorching heat
You came and stood close to me.
Saving me from being burnt.
You picked me up with utmost delicacy.
Glared at my imperfect colours,
Running your fingers on my veins,
As if appreciating the beauty i never thought i possessed.
And then with the most beautiful hues possible,
You painted your name on me.
Placed me securely within the pages of your diary.
And then, i became yours forever.
It is already past midnight and I lay on my bed, eyes wide open, surrounded by a strange stillness. But, there are times when I close my eyes and the world around me seems to be moving at a rapid pace. Everything in a haze. I believe, that the clear liquid spilled beside my bed, which I had been pouring in me, believing it to be water.
But appearances can be deceptive, you know. You trust on something to be your saviour, and it then gradually reveals its true colours. Gripping you by the neck. Suffocating you. Making its existence so prevalent, you lose yourself completely to it. And then there is no escape from that trap. But it gets too late by the time you realise it.
The room reeks of a mixed stench of alcohol and your memories, which I try to burn up in cigarette smoke. And then, for a moment or two, this erratic thought process stops, leading way to just one thought. What will I do when this alcohol and smoke disappears into thin air. For your absence is not volatile. It is something etched on stone, in bold letters.