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Something different!
ShraMan OS: Poles Apart
In life, at some time or another we come to a point where some things are undeniable, indelible sculptures carved out on a rock. They are bound to happen. Their existences are finely, delicately and meticulously plotted by the scheme of things. Like after life comes death. Like water is thrown to extinguish fire. If injured then nursed back to life. When a mistake is made, apology occurs. When culpability becomes omnipresent, repentance happens. When a sin is committed, punishment persistently follows.
And one day, all those learned lessons of life, the morsel of wisdom that is often bestowed to children, they all turn contrary, vain, sans substance or depth, mere inked words on an immaculate piece of paper. And in a blink of an eye, the course of a whole lifetime is turned upside down.
That is the day I collided with her in a crowded corridor and it felt like I had finally found someone, I had lost along the way. That is the day, Shravan Malhotra met Suman Tiwari.
Ralph Nader has said your best teacher is your last mistake. I have made many mistakes in my life so many that if questioned on the Judgement day I would be incapable of counting them on my fingertips, but the only one that stays with me, breathes through me like oxygen is her, Suman Tiwari.
All the logical answers to the universe's questions , all my knowledge have failed me and I want to laugh out loud for all these lessons seem peculiarly trivial and absurd in comparison of what Suman Tiwari has bequeath me with as a present of her unfaithful loyalty.
After love comes pain.
After longing comes suffering.
After devastation comes nothingness.
After hatred comes hell.
Humans are made of heartbreak and broken promises, hopeful tears and sad smiles. Experiences that wreck the soul to the core and leave the heart numb. Wise decisions taken after sleepless nights staring at the crack in the ceiling that is sometimes a stolid smile, sometimes a frown. A brick of dreams which crumbles to pieces. Empty words muddled with feelings. Emotions that burn your lungs and explode within your chest like a volcano in eruption.
And yet she wore heartbreak with ruthless elegance as if it was a dress which threads had been stitched to cover every inch of her skin.
An anthesis. I would never find a better adjective in the dictionary to describe her. She is dark and twisty. She possesses as many facades as the Rubik Cube, I proudly claim to solve in mere minutes. The only difference is that she is untouchable, too far-fetched for me to reach.
My hair will go grey, my skin will wrinkle, my memory will fade to oblivion and I'll forget how to spell my own name but I will never succeed in perceiving the mysteries behind the unparalleled enigma that is Suman Tiwari.
Suman Tiwari is everything I am not.
She is loud and proud, so much that she puts the princess of beauty to shame.
I am soft-spoken and drifting, my words are waves crashing against a rock.
Her heart is as hard a metal road, mine is as soft as clay.
She is all artifices, I am all simplicity.
Together, we make an evening in the city of lights worth your while.
She is south, I am north.
She is east, I am west
She is right, I am left.
We are two paths that are never meant to cross. Parallel lines that never coincide.
We are close yet so far.
We are poles apart.
Like a queen she enters into a room and steals the wealth of attention. Shining like a constellation under the spotlights, she owns her crown, centre of gravity being her second name. I am a stranger who walks down the path, wearing black, someone you will not turn to look at. A faceless shadow who disappears in the crowd.
She is the summer song that has topped the charts, that kisses everyone's lips once in a while as their hips sway to the beats of her tunes. I am the forgotten melody mothers hum to their children in their mother tongue to lull them to sleep as they weave dreams against their chests.
She is the rising sun, like a flower she blossoms, gifting its multi-coloured petals unto the world. She paints the world with her fingers and fills the sky with lurid redness and endless rays of pink. I am the light that has long surrendered to the darkness. I taint the mauve of the dusky sky in an abyss of black, I am the remedy to your troubling thoughts, the whisper in your ear greeting you good night.
She is the raging ocean, made of countless drops that could quench our eternal thirst for love. Never calm yet constantly still. Always moving, never the same. I am one of the drops that fall from to the sky as a present to its besotted. I am a drizzle of hope in the vastness of the ocean.
She is the midnight walk taken around the beach, hand in hands with a lover. I am the run, ran by survivors. I leave your limbs aching, your lungs screaming for air and your heart pounding at the speed of a freight train.
Eyes are the window to the soul. Her eyes hold the sparkle of sweet childhood, mine hide behind my glasses, a world of hurt, unrequited feelings and grief that was only expressed on papers that were burnt to ashes.
She has this laugh, it's vibrant, light and warm, so warm that it finds home in the cold-stoned hearts, mine is discreet, almost undecipherable and appears only in her breathing vicinity.
Behind her perfect armour, she conceals her emotions like treasures of great value. I, on the other hand, am all heart, I believe in giving and receiving. She is a woman. Sorrow emerges from her chest and trickle down her face and she burst into sobs in the eeriness of the night. I am a man, manliness and bravery are engraved in me. I cry silently, hidden from the eyes.
Memories are burden. She feasts on them as if they were small pieces of candies made of honey. I starve on them, my tongue aches for the sweetness of that liquor.
She lives in a house with four walls and a roof and hear abuse of her name. I live in a house with four walls and a roof, headphones in trying to muffle the poison their tongues spew in name of pride. She and I, we might be poles apart, but we come from toxic homes.
Her parents went for grave too early, mine were inexistent for the longest time.
I have a long history of running away from questions. She is a resounding question herself.
I am an avoider, running away is customary to me. She is a collider, confrontation and she are a wintry affair.
In front of the crowd she's a complete stranger, heartless. Behind closed doors, she treats me like her own. In front of the crowd, she is an acquaintance I salute. Behind closed doors, she is the closest semblance of the family I never had.
My soul is attached to every vibe of her being, like a spider entangled in its web.
Like puzzle pieces we connected in our youth, as fragile and easily breakable were our roots.
Love is the sanctuary of the lost ones. The colour of hers has illuminated with every passing year while mine has darkened in the colour of despair.
I chased love all my life and she was born aversed by it.
I cherished her like the broken pearls of a necklace and she trampled me over like the leaf of a plant.
To me, she is insensitive to the point of cruelty.
Suman Tiwari is the kind of woman who is so accurately complete within herself that she doesn't need anyone's companionship in her life.
She is an illusion.
And disillusionment is the thin thread between life and death.
These were my convictions till the moment, she bares herself in front of me and my fingers touch the emptiness that left scars on her soft skin. My eyes trace the imperfections she is ashamed of and never in my life have I been more entrenched by the vision of femininity that stands in front of me. My lips write love letters on her skin and in that moment we are infinite.
Truly, your best teacher is your last mistake.
After pain comes blessing.
After suffering comes salvation.
After nothingness comes eminence.
After hell comes heaven.
We might be poles apart,
She and I,
Fatedly, we are in for a lifetime.
She is mine, I am hers.
And one day, all those learned lessons of life, the morsel of wisdom that is often bestowed to children, they all turn contrary, vain, sans substance or depth, mere inked words on an immaculate piece of paper. And in a blink of an eye, the course of a whole lifetime is turned upside down.
That is the day I collided with her in a crowded corridor and it felt like I had finally found someone, I had lost along the way. That is the day, Shravan Malhotra met Suman Tiwari.
Ralph Nader has said your best teacher is your last mistake. I have made many mistakes in my life so many that if questioned on the Judgement day I would be incapable of counting them on my fingertips, but the only one that stays with me, breathes through me like oxygen is her, Suman Tiwari.
All the logical answers to the universe's questions , all my knowledge have failed me and I want to laugh out loud for all these lessons seem peculiarly trivial and absurd in comparison of what Suman Tiwari has bequeath me with as a present of her unfaithful loyalty.
After love comes pain.
After longing comes suffering.
After devastation comes nothingness.
After hatred comes hell.
Humans are made of heartbreak and broken promises, hopeful tears and sad smiles. Experiences that wreck the soul to the core and leave the heart numb. Wise decisions taken after sleepless nights staring at the crack in the ceiling that is sometimes a stolid smile, sometimes a frown. A brick of dreams which crumbles to pieces. Empty words muddled with feelings. Emotions that burn your lungs and explode within your chest like a volcano in eruption.
And yet she wore heartbreak with ruthless elegance as if it was a dress which threads had been stitched to cover every inch of her skin.
An anthesis. I would never find a better adjective in the dictionary to describe her. She is dark and twisty. She possesses as many facades as the Rubik Cube, I proudly claim to solve in mere minutes. The only difference is that she is untouchable, too far-fetched for me to reach.
My hair will go grey, my skin will wrinkle, my memory will fade to oblivion and I'll forget how to spell my own name but I will never succeed in perceiving the mysteries behind the unparalleled enigma that is Suman Tiwari.
Suman Tiwari is everything I am not.
She is loud and proud, so much that she puts the princess of beauty to shame.
I am soft-spoken and drifting, my words are waves crashing against a rock.
Her heart is as hard a metal road, mine is as soft as clay.
She is all artifices, I am all simplicity.
Together, we make an evening in the city of lights worth your while.
She is south, I am north.
She is east, I am west
She is right, I am left.
We are two paths that are never meant to cross. Parallel lines that never coincide.
We are close yet so far.
We are poles apart.
Like a queen she enters into a room and steals the wealth of attention. Shining like a constellation under the spotlights, she owns her crown, centre of gravity being her second name. I am a stranger who walks down the path, wearing black, someone you will not turn to look at. A faceless shadow who disappears in the crowd.
She is the summer song that has topped the charts, that kisses everyone's lips once in a while as their hips sway to the beats of her tunes. I am the forgotten melody mothers hum to their children in their mother tongue to lull them to sleep as they weave dreams against their chests.
She is the rising sun, like a flower she blossoms, gifting its multi-coloured petals unto the world. She paints the world with her fingers and fills the sky with lurid redness and endless rays of pink. I am the light that has long surrendered to the darkness. I taint the mauve of the dusky sky in an abyss of black, I am the remedy to your troubling thoughts, the whisper in your ear greeting you good night.
She is the raging ocean, made of countless drops that could quench our eternal thirst for love. Never calm yet constantly still. Always moving, never the same. I am one of the drops that fall from to the sky as a present to its besotted. I am a drizzle of hope in the vastness of the ocean.
She is the midnight walk taken around the beach, hand in hands with a lover. I am the run, ran by survivors. I leave your limbs aching, your lungs screaming for air and your heart pounding at the speed of a freight train.
Eyes are the window to the soul. Her eyes hold the sparkle of sweet childhood, mine hide behind my glasses, a world of hurt, unrequited feelings and grief that was only expressed on papers that were burnt to ashes.
She has this laugh, it's vibrant, light and warm, so warm that it finds home in the cold-stoned hearts, mine is discreet, almost undecipherable and appears only in her breathing vicinity.
Behind her perfect armour, she conceals her emotions like treasures of great value. I, on the other hand, am all heart, I believe in giving and receiving. She is a woman. Sorrow emerges from her chest and trickle down her face and she burst into sobs in the eeriness of the night. I am a man, manliness and bravery are engraved in me. I cry silently, hidden from the eyes.
Memories are burden. She feasts on them as if they were small pieces of candies made of honey. I starve on them, my tongue aches for the sweetness of that liquor.
She lives in a house with four walls and a roof and hear abuse of her name. I live in a house with four walls and a roof, headphones in trying to muffle the poison their tongues spew in name of pride. She and I, we might be poles apart, but we come from toxic homes.
Her parents went for grave too early, mine were inexistent for the longest time.
I have a long history of running away from questions. She is a resounding question herself.
I am an avoider, running away is customary to me. She is a collider, confrontation and she are a wintry affair.
In front of the crowd she's a complete stranger, heartless. Behind closed doors, she treats me like her own. In front of the crowd, she is an acquaintance I salute. Behind closed doors, she is the closest semblance of the family I never had.
My soul is attached to every vibe of her being, like a spider entangled in its web.
Like puzzle pieces we connected in our youth, as fragile and easily breakable were our roots.
Love is the sanctuary of the lost ones. The colour of hers has illuminated with every passing year while mine has darkened in the colour of despair.
I chased love all my life and she was born aversed by it.
I cherished her like the broken pearls of a necklace and she trampled me over like the leaf of a plant.
To me, she is insensitive to the point of cruelty.
Suman Tiwari is the kind of woman who is so accurately complete within herself that she doesn't need anyone's companionship in her life.
She is an illusion.
And disillusionment is the thin thread between life and death.
These were my convictions till the moment, she bares herself in front of me and my fingers touch the emptiness that left scars on her soft skin. My eyes trace the imperfections she is ashamed of and never in my life have I been more entrenched by the vision of femininity that stands in front of me. My lips write love letters on her skin and in that moment we are infinite.
Truly, your best teacher is your last mistake.
After pain comes blessing.
After suffering comes salvation.
After nothingness comes eminence.
After hell comes heaven.
We might be poles apart,
She and I,
Fatedly, we are in for a lifetime.
She is mine, I am hers.
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