Tacenda.

 

A calendar set to the August noon,

painted haphazardly

by mouth.

 

Can I unbolt the door?

 

Salt-sweat oozes

from half-shut eyes.

Half-drunk cup of tea,

cooled, detoxed,

but not forgotten.

 

Where am I shelved?

 

The gentle moans

lost in the rumble of thunder,

My dust-greased hairs

flutter.

 

 

Frivolous makeshift, am I not?

 

Dandelions fatten,

Grapple me in.

Confused scuffles

down the spiral staircase.

 

A canopy of tenebrosity.

My almost burnt cigarette.

 

The razor-thin line

between Love

and Lust,

and a set of

amaurotic mortals.

 

Broken knees

of a dancing ballerina,

I fall.

Bronzed from head to ankles,

I fear,

my line ends here.

A new journey.

My morning started with a text message from a very dear one,

‘When there is a will, there is a way. Go ahead, young girl.’

Suddenly, I knew what it meant, rather what it exactly meant to me at this point of life.

I knew it was time to start new and trust the magic of beginnings.

I knew it was time to reveal those charming secrets to the autumn wind.

I knew it was time to talk about hidden bruises, to dance to the rhythm of the happy snowflakes.

I knew last night’s scars would be healed soon by a ray of hope.

Footsteps traced my way to the shelf where a million untouched pages lay, each waiting for a different story, each craving to bear a new experience.

I grabbed some and started to fill them, each of them, one by one.

 To my amazement, I found thoughts,tightly knotted in strings of words.

I found a strange comfort in the smell of ink,spilled over the clean papers.

I found a staircase to an undiscovered galaxy built up inside my own brain.

 

And, I bled before love.

Only this time, this twenty-seventh time, it was not for a person, but for words.