Make it happen

The touch of my fingertips against yours. And the life force of us joins at the synapse. Making a river of it. That flows through the mountains, towards the light, towards nothingness and all that is beyond.  The touch that sends vibrations and tremors to the core. The look that brings about ripples in the air between us. The changing distance that causes the fluctuations in my body mass. And the connect of the soul. The vibes that reach me from beyond. The warmth of your being calms my inner turmoil and slackens my pulse. I go limb. I relax. The smile that begins inside of me and its last dot, the final coordinate is somewhere close to your center. For it to be whole. Complete.  The in-decipherable melody that haunts me with its notes will find words in your eyes. Your laugh in my breath, my prayer on your dreams, the aches of your body on my forehead and the wrinkles of my soul in the lines of your palms. And then, there is that. The sixth sense that nags at me incessantly; do something, anything; it says. Make a connection. Reach out. Make the connection in the real world.

the lost you

Revisiting childhood haunts, the hide-&-seek secrets with sunshine shining in on the corners from un-curtained, open windows. Revealing all in its dusty memory glow. The shapes and sounds of the years bygone come alive in sepia tones, the conspiratory laughs, the hushed tones,  the furtive touches, the imaginary kisses..all come alive with a magnified clarity. The imperfect you is awakened within, a dimension added, adding both form and substance to the current shapely life of you.  Revisiting old friends, and unearthing the dark corner in your soul with a faint torch that faintly sheds light on miniscule findings and yet, opens a treasure trove of other have-beens from your past that you had unceremoniously dumped out of sight and semblance of today. Reading pale letters, replete with old vocabulary and older emotions, stirs up the still waters and small frothy waves hit on you to awaken your dead nerve ends to a new sunrise and an old sunset. An old lilting melody from a forgotten era sings its way into the present from an open slit in the memory barriers, making the castle of cards fall to the floor, shredding them into splinters and making the King and the Queen shed blood from their wounds. 

coming back home

A safe haven to come back to, is it all that a home is supposed to be? Because, if that’s all there is to it, then it is just a physicality, mostly. The mirrors that make one comfortable to strip off all that the world has caked on, comfortable with oneself. The soft lights that bring forth all the laughter and frown lines and make you look deep and beautiful, because of the deviation  from perfection. The warmth of the bodies and energies that inhabit the same worlds and look out for you from the side & rear-view mirrors alongside driving on their disparate lanes. The open doors and breezy windows, where the curtains heave and sigh, diluting the raging storms from the outside and altering the sound bass to make it all seem serene. It is my womb, of myself, for myself, that shuts out the external and yet fortifies me enough to face yet another day.

And yet, I feel slightly bruised, a lump  starts to build in my throat. I try and push it back inside of me. My insides swell up. I am overwhelmed, bigger. The walls shrink in on me. I open the already ajar doors and windows..i let the outside world in, as in….and it all merges. The outside with the inside. The raging winds from inside of me, take wings and bring down the spattering rains. The lump in my throat dissolves as I feel the raindrops on my face, against my wet eyes.