Under the broken windows of my thoughts.

via coverbooth

via coverbooth

Reality hurried towards me, breaking the windows my thoughts, hitting me hard on the head like a rock. I gasped for air. The pain was so excruciating but I couldn’t scream. I dare not scream. My heart felt as if it was being clenched tightly in a fist. I, a captive animal in terror, stood there as the tears glazed my tired eyes.
No matter how much I tried, it would always hurt. Perhaps, one can never get used to pain. A wound if reopened, stings with greater intensity. It hurts with more depth each time. Being completely immune to such feelings…
I was just lying on the dock, thinking. Trying to define my life in two seasons. Spring and Autumn.
Spring was a few years back when I was a little bud who had just burst open into a flower. A flower fragile yet robust. Experiencing the very first rains, waiting for the sun, getting caressed by snow, spreading fragrance and going with the flow of wind.
But Autumn slipped slowly and quietly under the velvety blanket of happiness and covered me. Autumn clutched me and plucked me out of my own garden.
There was a time when I’d wait for sun but now it just lurked in the copper sky watching me fall apart. It doesn’t rain anymore. I can see the greenery around me turning dull, the crimson leaves falling down on the ground. I want to help turn it back to fresh green, to bring it back to life but I can’t. I can’t because I’m nothing but a frail, weak, dampened spirit.
My cheek felt wet. I returned to the real Autumn, the reality. Lying on the dock, under the broken windows of my thoughts.

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The Apple Tree

Credits: featurepics.com

Credits: featurepics.com

The door hardly made a sound as I closed it behind me. I trudged to the patio and sat down on one of the low-backed chairs with a sigh. In all of my sixteen years I had repeatedly been prevented from participating in the activities most people of my age normally got involved in. I could not go out to my friends more than once a month, could not go to parties, and wasn’t even allowed to talk to boys. Also, my mother had just forbidden me from going to a concert, for which I already had tickets and was merely two streets away. I know this is not a reason for major depression, but it is very frustrating when you finally think you are getting something you really wanted, but end up realizing that you never had a chance in the first place.
As I lifted my head, I gazed at the ancient apple tree in my garden. I felt a tiny smile from my lips as I stared at it. I rose and walked towards the tree. Suddenly my step seemed lighter. As I watched the towering tree, memories, which had been locked away in my mind and forgotten, suddenly broke free. Perhaps I just wanted to remember happier times.

I saw myself as a tree-year old girl with tiny pigtails playing around the tree. I had pretended that the tree was a large living doll which I could talk to in my baby language.

I saw myself transform into a seven-year old girl who still played with dolls and believed in Santa Claus. My fantasy at that time was to have the tree talk back to me and answer all my queries. My tiny smile became wider as more and more memories flooded into my mind. Even though I was seeing all of this in my mind’s eye, it really seemed as if I was looking at younger images of myself, right in front of me.

My small frame grew as I turned ten years old. My god, how plump and chubby I used to be! No wonder I was everyone’s favorite! I remembered how, at the age of ten, I had my first crush on a boy who had somehow sneaked into my garden.

My smile had grown decidedly wider over the last memory. How immature I had been! Well, that was six years ago.

Another image crept stealthily into my mind. It was a taller and a much thinner version of me. My scowling face and angry body language contrasted darkly with my previously smiling images. I was thirteen-years old and as it seemed, angry over everything. I remembered how I used to take all my anger and frustration out on the tree. How petty my troubles were at that time, but what a big deal I used to make out o them. Just like I was doing now…

I collapsed in the reassuring shade of the tree, suddenly feeling exhausted. Th sight of the apple tree had brought back the memories that were buried in my mind. These four, five memories had actually made me forget my troubles, even if only for a short time. Come to think of it, my troubles were actually quite small and meaningless. Also there was nothing wrong with coming from a conservative family…

My head felt heavier and I rested it on the grass. Just before my eyes closed, I saw myself as a five year old resting peacefully under the apple tree….

Merely Existing

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I exist today. Hoping that I would live someday. Treading on the roads others have built for me. Leading to where they want me to be. I breathe; I bleed to know I exist. But I am not alive. To be who I want to be, everyday I strive. But something inside me is dead. I can’t seem to name it. Maybe it’s a mixture of hope, gleefulness and confidence. Or maybe not. I’m just not the same person I was. I lived in the moment.  I laughed and cried at/for the things that were happening to me at that very moment. But it’s not the same anymore. Half of me lives in past and half of me lives in the future. Birds, music and colors don’t excite me anymore. Rain does not make me wish someone was with me right now.  They killed me. They killed the person I was. I know I’m not going back to be me again. I can’t. They are accustomed to the new me. But I am not. I miss who I used to be. I miss dying to be with my friends, I miss the way I loved to make them feel special, I miss not caring about how I look or what others think about me and being grateful for having amazing people who care about me. They changed it. They changed it all. I lived for myself. I was satisfied. They made me conscious about my weight, my height, the way I look, the way I talk, the way I walk. They told me if I’ll be too excited, happy or sad for others, they’ll think of me as clingy and clumsy and get tired of me. Get tired of me? But I love them so dearly! They have to love me back! No dear, they just respect you. But they will eventually get tired of you. Why? Because you care too much.  Oh how it hurts to know the truth about this cruel world. I didn’t want to lose them.  So I just kept a slight distance between them and me. But it was too late. They had already gotten tired of me. Slowly, the cruel world kept revealing its secrets to me and it changed me or killed me? Because I’m not alive. I merely exist. I exist to wait for the day when I’ll finally be able to say that I’m alive.

Secrets.

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Somewhere between the moon and you,
I fought the chill of the cold hard truth.

I began to let my fire burn,
While you couldn’t wait for your turn. 

I, then became the sea, 
you, a drop’s philosophy. 

Your voice so tender, 
I begin to surrender. 

I dance in the midst of this fight,
You are forced to behold my worsening plight.

As the veils fall one by one, 
a hundred hidden secrets dwindle to none.

Story Of A Girl

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A girl freezing in a telephone booth,
Has just been told the truth.
Huddled in her flimsy coat,
She has no place to call home.
She breathes on her thin little fingers,
In her mind tons of questions linger.
She has to beat her way back alone down the icy street,
With solidarity, again she has to greet.

Winter is glittering on her cheek,
The first frost of having been hurt, the first frost of her defeat.
She turns around,
Facing the windows brown.
She takes a deep breath,
and starts to brood about death.
Her face again stained with tears,
She still tries to conceal her fears.

She looks down at the screaming sea,
Hears the flutter of birds so free.
The horizon turns gold and pink,
But the night begins in a wink.
She’s vexed, oh so perplexed,
She must take a new step.
To follow her dreams she had fought and fought,
‘But it’s above the realms of possibility’ she thought.

She was wasting her time on frivolous things,
she has to start anew and quit being a jinx.
She wiped her tears out,
Proceeded without a doubt.
At the enormous moon, in amazement she’s gazed,
That’s when the train of her mind started to race.