Perspectives on a pair of clutches
You hand out warmth like sugar packets in a coffee shop; up for grabs but under appreciated.
*****
There you are, stuck in the middle of thousand lamps like wine spilled out of a hundred year old bottle. You twirl around, feet hovering over empty spaces between oil lamps, your lips sighing in annoyance at the lack of space to place your feet. How did you get in the middle of this maze of lamps anyway?
It has happened several times before, and every time I ignore the seduction of the moment and pick the residue of the moment instead. The pull is magnetic; physically impossible to ignore and emotionally bewitching. What kind of voodoo do you do?
Clenching of my stomach slowly relaxes when my legs take me towards you. You have stopped flailing and flinching when your feet hover over flame and stand in the middle like a damsel in distress. You would hate to hear that aloud but the primal part of me goes feral and wave of protective instinct washes over bones. Its pricking, prodding to offer you protection - take you in my arms and take you away from harms way.
Its utterly caveman-like and I will never utter those words aloud for words have the tendency to morph, mutate and get packaged to become frozen pockets of time, waiting for the day when the space between the two of us is no longer studded with longing and alienation.
And then I pummel through the maze of bright burning lamps, fire licking the space millimeters away from my feet.
Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, out in open for everyone to see and scar.
It makes me want to warm you with my lips.
*****
I see you in one of my futures where we argue who was the first one to fall and who was the first to soar. I'll tell you now, I am going to win that argument.
I have put my faith in the silence following our fights, arguments and conversations. I am living in sweet nothingness but I am alright with it. The forest that's grown between us is deep and thick. You stand on your side and I stand on mine.
Why does it take abysmal depth of misunderstandings between us to leave our safe posts and cross the forest?
Or stupidity like this.
Oil lamps surround me like broken eggshells. I am stuck in middle of maze and the way out of this maze of light involves sweeping the lamps out of the way or walking around them. I am not good at doing either.
It's a buzz in the back of my head and hum vibrating the cells under my skin. Your presence demands attention and the husk of his voice breaks the shackles that bind me to my bones. A smug smirk makes way and the cellphone in his hand recedes to confines of his pocket. The familiarity in your gait is staggeringly amorous.
Its the way you cross the maze and reach the center where I stand, makes my breath shallow and my chest ache. Your eyes, pools of warm milk chocolate, dance in mirth at my state. You have no words for me and my need for incessant chatter dies when you pick me up fairy tale princess style.
I am no princess in distress but a moth falling heads down to the center of the flame. The friction between our skin generates enough warmth to start a fire and consume me in the process. I clench your arm tightly when the fear of falling arises. You hug me close to your chest, eyes never leaving mine and carry me out of this maze.
One day I'll ask you how you managed to traverse through unorganized bunch of lamps on floor without looking at them. You will answer me with edgy voice and James Bond smile, "I am a miracle eggshell sweeper." and I will believe you.
The lapels of your jacket crumples under my palm leaving imprints of lines of destiny.
Anupamaa
Music Corner
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