Your kajal coated eyes will be shinning like they used to; heir of moon. Your scattered hair will not look towards me anymore in hope to make tresses on them. This time, focus of your eyes will be answering the unearthly questions of your small daughter. Amidst in the crowd of bus, my eyes will find your traces. I will wonder how contradictory our fate is. My handwatch will be shouting, late for office. Out of the blue, I will skip my stoppage to get a piece of attention from your plate. You will be giggling with your daughter, narrating her the funny stories associated with this bus route, not mine. Meanwhile, your eyes will counter my eyes. You will smile, putting those dimples in the middle of your pinkish cheeks. Your dimple are those depression of unknown geographic location where I resist myself from falling but fail to do so again and again. For a moment, you will vacillate whether to call me near or to wave a sterile hi and goodbye at once. However, I know you don't want to unravel this coincidence from your life. Somewhere, my prediction knows to sail boat in bottomless waves of your heart. Keeping a garden of smile on your lipsticked mouth, you will flag your hand to call me near. I, like a prey of your black magic, penetrate the blanket of people. To start a short conversation, you will ask me how I am. Hiding my ten years pain besides the bushes of smile, I will create a illusion of how good I am without you. I will too perform the same ritual like you. My sadness will start a journey down the lanes of memories. You will see the needles of happiness weaving a invisible pashmina shawl with you. My face will get the smile of 1947. I will realise from past ten years, I had been singing fake lullaby to myself. The bus's radio will sing Kishore Kumar's “Mere mehboob qayamat hogi.”
Changing the topic, you will ask with whom I am married. I will reply, loading excruciating bullet in it, “yess!!! With dark side of my fate”. This will ache your heart. Your heart's bird will try to fly away from its rib cage. Past will be burning in the hall of lungs. You will regret why you had pushed me in this deep chasm or rather both of us. I will take out handful of sand from my desert heart to mend your bottomless ocean.
To keep your daughter's smile. I will enter in adventure inside my congested pocket to find a chocolate. After a long hard work, I will give her a chocolate and prove her that I ‘can’ be one of her most sweetest uncle. She will give a bunch of thank you in return. I will take every pieces and place them in the casket of my ears with delicacy of my soul.
You will ask,“So, do you still keep those fantasy stories of ‘how love fall in love with hate' or ‘why night cry in the verses of your poem’ in your bookshelf ??” However I will answer “No, I forgot” instead of “I still shelter them in the cold rythmn of my heartbeat.” Sometimes, it's better to draw tapestry of fake on the wall of reality. Two star so near, still too far. I will curse on my fate who had sketched thousand light years in between.
Alas, in the end this ephemeral moment will whisper I am over. Newborn journey will die. Your stoppage will call your name. For last time, your phone's wallpaper will cry,“I am your first painting which you had once gifted to her. Do you remember me?” #unlove#yqbaba#yostowrimo#wcephemeral#wami_diary
