tears2

With great care did I collect all the pearls of my dreams; with great aspirations did I polish them bright. Each breath of his made me alive. His happiness was the reason I lived. For years did I live for one reason… and then I was gone.

His innocent smile still rejuvenates my heart. His tears… well, they do moisten my heart but somewhere deep inside they foster a sense of relief… A relief that he is still my own. Oh time! You are way too cruel. You walk at your own pace. Traitor! You did rush around when he was here… didn’t you? And now when he is gone, you don’t seem to move at all! There was a time when I was happy running around the whole day… remember? And now my life has been so stagnant that it is eating me up.

“What do you do all day? Once dad has gone off to work, you stick to the TV… don’t you?”

Yes, my dear, I did stick to the TV all day. And magically does the havoc that you create each morning does restore back to peace. And the food that you demand – claiming full right – each day after you come back; that food is magically prepared by angels, right? Stupid! And why should I explain this to you now? Now you know it better. How long does it take to wash the clothes dear?

But… you know… in a sense you are right for my current situation. There is no one who creates havoc in the house each day. The sofa covers remain unwrinkled for ages. The same food is eaten for days. There is no one to scream to for not having lunch in time. Basically there is nothing to do.

So you know what do I do? I remain in illusion each day. After your dad leaves for the day, I imagine that you too have left for school. I wait for you. Each day, the clock ticks 2:30, I go out to see you coming; chatting with your friends. The school bus leaves, many children come back laughing and giggling. But you are not among them. Then I calculate the number of days left for your arrival. Unfortunately they are not days… they are months… sometimes a whole year. Well at least they say it so. For me, it seems to be ages. All blames on the bloody time. It doesn’t move at all. And then I sit back and cry sometimes… well most of the times. And then rush up and down the house doing nothing. Like a ghost in a haunted house.

And then in the evening when your dad comes back from work, we ask each other if you called. Mostly you don’t. “He must have been busy”. Then we again talk about you. What else can we talk about? I don’t understand his work. Then we mutually decide on a time to call you, or wait for your call. “He might have just returned.” “He might be sleeping.” “Today is Monday, he has a busy schedule on Mondays.” “Don’t call now! He might be in the canteen.”

And then, suddenly the phone rings. And then for a few minutes do we live. We live our whole day in a few minutes. And thus does rejoice our hearts. We laugh at your jokes, smile at your memories, cry at your loss and scold you for you nuisances. And hence thoughts, and thoughts alone do remain and hence ends our day; probably an era of living without you.

I know you have gone to reach the stars, to fulfill your dreams. But what can one do when the reason to live has gone away? One goes along with him. So here am I living a dual identity. Well… single to be precise… The only identity I have is with you. When your wounds bleed, so does my heart. When you cry, another heart does ache.