"I am not my own, how can I be yours..."
"I am not my own, how can I be yours..." she whispered intimately with a voice soft, emphasizing in a tone gentle, but punched hard in its truth,
it hurt, hurts still, like hell.
Even after all these days, weeks, months, and years...
At that moment, for a second, my heart stopped...
And for another one more, my mind went blank...
and, all, I could do was to hold on, to my sanity from getting lost, that shattered into pieces of myself, by those words.
My searching eyes found hers, hers that was clear brown that shined with a determined conviction of what she truly meant.
Those eyes, they pierced my soul, sundered my mind, broke my heart apart, like never before
Her message was clear, for her eyes spoke volumes and volumes' unlike any people I had been fortunate or unfortunate to meet with, in my relatively short life
My old man's eyes looked like that on his sickly deathbed before he drifted in his sleep to the unknown darkness to never wake up again
"Hey! are you alright" her worried voice brought me back from my wool-gathering.
(I wish I was, I thought inside)
"Yes," the lie came out far easier than it should from my trembling lips, and I smiled as I said my goodbye, as her friend arrived to pick her up
Times fly, memories blur...
To this day, her words reverberate in my mind, though my heart pines no more for hers...
"I am not my own, how can I be yours..."
Born on a planet, where people wage wars for the glory of the past in one corner of the world, and in another corner where the very name; last, divides us into high and low of "class"
Divided by material prosperity; rich and poor whose gulf is getting wider than before
Divided by the pandemic; vaccinated few and unimmunized many,
Divided by knowledge; that we could not ignore, knowing we could not take the "chance" to be more, knowing there is no future, together,
and to love in abandonment, like how other "lesser" species do,
We are cursed by logic, the "wisdom" of the sapiens mind, the heart is dead
For love to blossom...
"We cannot live in the present"
Even if we love, in the freedom of the present, how can we love truly, when shackled by our past, our identity, the gender where roles are expected to be followed, the experience of hurt, memories that haunt us with its lonely comfort
I wish loving oneself was easy, and loving someone easier, when;
"I am not my own, how can I be yours..."
(PC: vince l falcon: https://pin.it/1UurAnp)
It holds us, prisoner, with material "expectation", tainted by the desire to "control", to "own", to feel "alive"; these ideas are just before our eyes, behind our ears, self-imprisoning in our very mind
The world is just "waiting to be consumed" to be bought in papers of subtle faith, money, that buys us happiness
"be rich before being philosopher", thus we run from our walk, in a marathon, almost reaching our destination, almost there... reaching the pinnacle of our career, we lose what we should have given time and care to, the child of our flesh, intoxicated in the madness of the world, drunk in the wine of our fame
"I am not my own, how can I be yours..."
I need to work more, climb my career ladder. There is more to pay every day, and less and less for myself. Another 3 rupees more for my ride, pay for the fees, the rent, the food, water, basic necessity, and barely enough to save. Then there comes to announce, "government is more on debt of over 50k", it worries my aging heart, wearied mind, naively thinking will the police will come knocking to my door for the announced payment which is more than thrice my monthly salary. So worried, I forget to water the flowers for the next few weeks and they die. I ignore the bickering wife's plea for a "sari" so she leaves with the children for "her" mother's house. All I could do is depart home at dawn and return at dusk. Thinking of the pile of debts to repay, alone, in the dark before drifting to the sleep
"I am not my own, how can I be yours..."
(PC: media storehouse: https://pin.it/3smJic6)
Memories, thus flow in mind, as the soul opens to the world that is sighing its weariness, there is uncertainly in the air, chaos in the spirit, and words, that haunts
"I am not my own, how can I be yours..."
...how can I be yours, truly.
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