Of life and glass bangles

The glass bangles broke
and lay in a heap.
I picked up a shard
and held it against the sun.
A gleam pervaded my life.
A sunlit panorama.
The twinkle of his eyes,
the lighthouse's pride.
The wave in the ocean
fielding a dismal sway.
The rainbow that lost
to the mighty tufts.
Caught in the arms
of an eternal enigma,
I bid myself a goodbye.
The brook of blood
on a fair maiden's hand,
like the river of love
bringing us to life.
Swinging, all the while,
to the clinking of glass bangles.

You

The essence of an emotion,
Half-baked, vaguely known
Visits the deepest trenches
Of innocence;
Of unfortunate ignorance.
The flight of words
Finds salvation
In another’s arms,
While the beholder
Waits with a lit candle
And the patience of a saint.
What use is this patience,
I so often wonder?
When all I can do this moment
Is force myself to stay alive
And hope that tomorrow
Brings with it you,
And all of you.
For all of me
Is creaking with pain,
Without you.
So, come, and
Fill my life
With life.
For it is so relatively,
And yet, so absolutely
Colorless without you.
Starkly naked, this life.

The End

I looked to my right. Lying next to me was she. Her slumber, a shroud for the turbulence between us. A turbulence, that was hardly emotional. I fingered the curved lane on her back. Beauty. She smiled in her sleep. I clutched her hand and squeezed it tight. I would not let go. I fingered my cleavage and recollected the several times she found it sensuous. I wonder if he will like it, too. I don’t know. Maybe he won’t touch me the way she does; won’t look into my eyes with the warmth of sunlit love; won’t run his fingers down my neck and tickle me with naughtiness spilling from his eyes onto my mouth. I sighed. Tomorrow I was getting married. To a man! It’s bad enough it’s not with the woman I am in love with…but a man!? It was a beginning, all right. A darned fucked up beginning. No one understands. Except for those NGOs who keep fighting for our justice. Even if we are legally clean, who’s to say whether people will accept us? She doesn’t mind. She lives for herself. I care. I care about being frowned upon by colleagues, friends, family. I care. So, I am getting married. Yes. I can’t go through the mess. Poor my baby, she doesn’t even know that tonight is the end. Forever. There she is, sleeping through my slow death. Blissful, in her own carefree world. Someday, she too will get married. To a MAN. Then she will understand. And forgive me.
I bent down and kissed her nose, and slowly, made my way to those chapped lips I have always known as ‘home’. She kissed me back. With a fervor, that made me sure that she knew. She held me in her arms, and I succumbed to sleep. All the while aware of the tomorrow. All the while reluctantly watching time present tomorrow. A beginning with all its newness and all its vulgarity.