There's me sitting on that nondescript chair
adorning myself with placid musings while
smiling repeatedly with each colloquy with those
hallowed eyes that are exuding an
inkling of intent leaving me mesmerised
yearned
and thinking... what if???
She makes me smile. Her eyes light up my day. Her presence uplift my mind. Her smile tells me a thousand laughter. Her laughter makes me fly. Her words make me calm. Her name makes my world cute.
Don't ask me who she is, don't tell me who she can be, don't even try to guess. Don't try to imagine her, don't put her into a figure, don't even think about her.
Don't break my enchantment. Please don't.
Here I am with my deep agile eyes
Like wild deer grazing under a tree.
Rest is a black cloud of cotton sighs;
Burqa is what's there, but no me.
Here I stand, under the scorching sun
Shying away from the eyes of every he.
A gloved hand dwelt by a mobile (seems fun);
More than the myself that is dwelt in the me.
Here I am with my 'equal' religion
One that came to set me free.
O' look you here, my dear dear religion;
Just look what you have done to me!
Ya I stole a glance, or a couple; or more. She was a pure physical presence. Such a presence that overwhelms your thoughts and makes your eyes become superficial.
Mini was the skirt, mini was the top; all black. Black were the hair with a tint of dark brown. The eyes were bluntly covered by huge black sunglasses, shutting down the least possibility of peeping into the inner self. A not so sharp nose was taking a hide beneath the Brobdingnagian presence of the goggles. A gentle matte lipstick was evenly smeared on two delicate lips which were agreeably pressed against each other. She was reading a magazine, presumably a fashion one. Time to time the long thin fingers with the nails polished crimson red were turning the pages as the magazine was resting on the lap. The long stretch of smooth bare legs were arrogantly bidding all attention. But why the blue shoes? Anyways, a perfect ending is not what one always desires.
It was time. With "Aye sala..." in my head and a smile on my face, I got down from the train.
Prologue: She wasn't crying when it rained. It was the nature that was sharing her pain which made her lighter.
She isn't crying as the tear comes down her cheek. It's the numbness of the sudden void, it's a droplet of pain. Then comes the showers; she cries.
So many days have passed with the clouds in her mind growing heavier and heavier a day after another. She bore their dark presence with the feeble hope that she may not have to face the thunderstorm. Days have passed carefully protecting the ever fragile Pandora's box; absconding the face of the bitter which nevertheless always left a bitter taste in the mouth.
Yet, the inevitable thunderstorm has hit. It has come with the showers to cleanse her, to rid her of the bitter. But it hurts. It hurts when the hails of memories so warm hit her with harsh chill, one after another. They hurt her as she picks them up for they are so alone with themselves only, and her. Showers after showers, hails after hails.
Epilogue: She won't cry when the sun shines. For now she has the memories that are preserved. She will warm them up in her own heart as they live forever with her existence. Now NOBODY can ever deny her of them.
Contradiction is what states him if not makes him. Or I would rather say disagreement. Yes, united we disagree.
As seen from the back, he is a tall figure in a proper business suit. Yes, the business suit, a black one with gray stripes; clean and neatly pressed. Nothing is odd about the suit but the suit itself. It is this suit that makes him carry two stories in antithesis.
Ya, he is a tall figure in a proper business suit but his sneakers. Not so cool sneakers, rather dull, but well kept. Nay, those sneakers ain't gonna play any tennis with THAT suit.
Ya, he is a tall figure in a proper business suit; with tangled hair? Quite a complex scenario there. A total anarchy; The Business Suit, the symbol of capitalism, gotta be the archenemy!
Hey look, a tall figure in a proper business suit who walks like that kid from the 5th grade. Ya that kid who is proud to own his new school bag, which is in fact a bit heavy for him; nevertheless, the enthusiasm is overwhelming the whole motor movement. Now, a kid walking in a clean and tidy business suit? Are you kidding me?
Yo, I speak on behalf of the sneakers, hair and the walk; Yo, united we disagree with that suit.
She is one of those types, you know, a rebel. Feet are on the seat in front, staring out of the window with a grim face shouting all the injustice in this world in silence. In these big bright eyes that are totally surrounded by thick black outlining of an eyeliner, she is holding a story. A story that is denying her a smile.
No, she is not alone in this moving train. Her boyfriend is very present with all of his efforts to draw her attention, perhaps to cheer her up. Yet, unlike the train, the rebel is unmoved. Not a single glance, not even a smirk.
Just when I get sure that she is not going to smile despite all the efforts, the boyfriend literally shows her how to smile, using his fingers stretching her lips; And she smiles. She smiles and smiles as if a spell is broken. What a pretty smile!
O smile, why are you so shy?
