book of life …

  I see the darkness finally curving around my universe. It will soon reach the whole perimeter and close the circle. I feel numb; but this should not matter., should not be so. I enjoyed my journey on – not so familiar grounds. I have also felt that this was a gift that only lucky ones get. Yes only few lucky experience such unique moments, such pristine feelings. But unfortunately, every rose comes with a very fine, sharp, piercing thorn and we pay the price for not being careful.

 We also know that where there is darkness there is light too. We don’t care if darkness engulfs the light. Why? because if it was dark, we were also sure that light was not too far.

 And if we were sure of being on the same wave length, how can we now say that it was not so. We were, even for a short while, but we were. So what if we were smug that nothing could go wrong, and again – so what if this notion – all exhausted, all breathless – started staring us in the face. We were chosen to enjoy a gift! Does it matter if it was for a short while? 

There is something else too. One of the two is inevitably weaker. Bewildered at the intensity and enormity of the whole thing, tries to make some sense of the feelings, desires, wishes and finds out that that was a futile search. What happened, happened and there was no going back and if you did, you would only get heartache. It was certainly built on a fault line. 

“ I know its not you.

This is my fight, with myself. Problem is I don’t know how to get this thing out of me. Problem is I care way too much. Problem is you are part of it. And the biggest problem is this whole thing is not right.

I wish I had some magic wand and I could be invisible. “

 These were her last words.

Then she over-dozed!

End of story. 

But problem is things do not always end this way. They take their own course. And vulnerability being the central player, fate intervenes and …..

I am stumped. Story does not move any further. Hmmm. Okay, I will move a few things here and there, make some changes … that probably would work.

A writer is the god of his / her creations! 

Okay then ….. , 

After breakfast, the table was cleared, she thought about the work ahead. Not much to do – she thought and leaned back in the chair. He had come back last night. – they had drifted apart one more time and as usual one of the two had offered the olive branch and things were ‘ business as usual’ again, like the ‘waqfa’ had never happened. She smiled and looked at him like always, with her inner eye. Suddenly she sat up. There was a horrific expression on her face like she had seen a ghost. She was unable to remember the shape of his nose. How can a face be complete without a nose!! 

I have no way of knowing what he thought. Did he smile after he had read what I had written for him? I was calm, though I was going in for a major surgery. I never asked, he never mentioned. 

“Today I’m out wandering, turning my skull

into a cup for others to drink wine from.

In this town somewhere there sits a calm, intelligent man,

who doesn’t know what he’s about to do!”

― Rumi

 ( Book Of Life. by Riffat Murtaza )

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