A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

It's 7:24 & the maulvi sahab is having some trouble with the loud speaker during the Isha'a adhan. I suppose I should be studying but my own sneezes keep distracting me. Oh, and the mosquitoes. I sometimes question their existence, but they in turn might be questioning mine.

My English teacher said something today that made me smile. "Betrayal is a terrible thing. I experienced it once. I wrote a lot of poetry after that."

I've been feeling strange. Almost as if I were floating around in someone else's abyss. The last few days have too, been quietly tamed by the hushed silence that winter brings. It's that time of the year again, when I lie down and I can hear every clock ticking from near & far. It makes me feel watched.

My friend said to me today that I've seemed to forgotten about her. To be honest, I've forgotten about a lot of old things trying to remember the new ones. Excuses, excuses. I'm great at excuses. And writing down convincing applications to account for unnecessary absence on college days, also. I haven't forgotten, though, I just - well, I just haven't remembered.

There was a boy who took part in the elocution today, and he was blind. It felt good to be part of an audience that gave him a loud, standing ovation after he won the first prize. After I sat back down, I closed my eyes for a little while and felt the black nothingness, once I did. Then I opened my eyes, had a good look at the lights on the stage, the few blue sweaters in the audience, the red colour of the gown of the girl sitting right in front of me, the uncomfortable movements of the girl behind the podium, the distant look on the face of one of the judges; everything. And I felt so small - just my eyes are worth all the praise in the whole wide world, for the Almighty. Thank you, dear God.

Taj Bibi was telling me, offhandedly, how the roof of her house needed repair and how they'd all feel cold at night. She then proceeded to laugh and add that she'd boiled rice just for me. My problems don't even feel like problems anymore.

You never know; at the end of the day, you might get written about.

Thank you for listening.

Love,
Me.

silence swore and silence kept;
the heavy weight of words unsaid -
they float; they cannot sink

the more we rush to drown in sounds
the silence only grows profound
it grows; it cannot shrink

never have i seen such serenity in violence
the calmness of all the calamities in silence
and we will drown in seas of things we failed to say

miscellany

i cannot untangle love from hate
i cannot untangle hopes from fate
i cannot untangle the lies from what's true
i cannot untangle my dreams from you

A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

I have many friends. Tomorrow is my most loyal friend; it is always there even when I don't realize that it needs to be there. And the moon is as courteous as ever to welcome it; with all pride shunned. And the Sun, in its wake, rises up dutifully to furnish it with light to celebrate a budding hope. And what with all the Tomorrows and its companions: the Sun, moon & stars and also the soft, brown earth that hasn't squealed even once when I've trodden upon it, I think I am in good company.

There's a Turkish cap lying on the floor because I was spinning it around my head and it flew off. I've been doing a lot of things mindlessly. Silence being one of them. I don't mean to be this silent, dull or blank. Sometimes the roar of my own thoughts scares me into silence. Besides, I'd rather spare you off the awkwardness of a conversation with yours truly. But I'm okay with not being good at some things. I decided that today while walking from my last class to the college gate.

The TV is blaring, and Baba just exclaimed really loudly. I'm sure it's just another program about people talking about other people who had talked about some other people some time ago.

I am dressed strangely today. These clothes make me feel like a lost kid in an adult gathering. I rested my head against the car window on my way back home today and watched everything fly by, while my head crashed lightly with the glass with every jump & bump. Just like I used to do when there were too many people in the car for me to be in one of the back seats and I readily sat atop Baba's lap instead. I am now tall enough to do that on my own. Sometimes you've got to treat yourself to a smile.

There are a lot of things swirling around in my head, but I have only managed to make sense out of a few. The rest I will save for my attic notebook (the idea of which I got from a friend's blog). Just in case you are wondering, I am supposed to update the diary regularly and not re-read the entries even once after writing them. I've decided to open the notebook and re-read it only on my birthday. And it will be like finding a notebook from the attic. Won't that be a treat? I promise I will send to you a few entries of the notebook when I am finished. It has been fun so far.

I am not just on a journey, I am a journey in itself. I hope you travel me.

There's a cricket match going on, Imran Khan is answering people's questions on TV now, Ammi has set up the machine and a basket of apples near it so I can make apple juice, my headphones are lying tangled invitingly near me, underneath the headphones lies a Chemistry book that I plan to brush the dust off, and in direct view is a wooden trolley, on top of which a fruit basket rests, consisting of only bananas. I? I am infinitely blessed.

Love,

Me.

A Letter to No One.

Dear You,

I woke up today feeling strangely content. I think you have to smile at the day for it to smile back at you.

Sometimes all you have is yourself. The person in the mirror will grow as you grow, the person in the mirror will cry while you cry, the person in the mirror will laugh while you laugh. And the person in the mirror will always extend a hand when you reach out for it. I think it's important to be there for yourself.

When I was very little, my legs always ached when I lay down to sleep. All the doctors said it was nothing to worry about, and that it was just because I was growing up, bit by bit. Then I think, every little ache makes you grow, bit by bit. It's not exactly the legs that ache now. But I must be growing again. Which reminds me. There's only two to three months left of being fifteen. That makes me sad in the strangest of ways. I like being fifteen. Fifteen sounds like a crossroad between being a kid and not being one. Sixteen sounds grown up.

It's funny. The thoughts I want to erase the most are the ones that tend to stick around for the longest. There'd be a lot of space for productive thoughts to flow if they weren't blocked by the same old dreary ones that I've grown far too used to and they still hold me in their grasp. A thought is a great one if you control it; powerful if it controls you.

I've been whining a lot about college lately. I felt bad about it later. I should realize I'm lucky enough to have a place to study. That's the thing about blessings; you never know how big of a blessing it is unless it's taken away. God forbid, though. But there are a lot of things to look forward to, and a lot of things to leave behind. One of my favourite persons in the whole wide world said, "The doorway to your future is not big enough for you and your past." I'll remember that.

I'm sitting here staring at a trophy cabinet. I don't want to stop writing.

I'm so grateful for the wonderful people I can call family, the amazing people God chose for me as friends, and for the strife to become who I'd like to become. And even for a math book that's falling apart. I don't know what I'd do without it all. I think, by now, you know what I am. But I'll tell you again. I am infinitely blessed.

Thank you for reading, and for listening. (My sister says I should thank you for reading, not listening. Makes sense. But I'm sure the voice in your head is reading this to you and that you are listening to it anyway.)

Love,

Me.

things i love

i love the shade of the red of a rose

you never gave to me

i love the melody of all the songs

you never sung to me

i love that oh so pretty shore where

you never walked with me

i love those strings of perfect words

you never spoke to me

there's a million other things i love

maybe you could never fathom

and maybe why i love them is

because i never had them

A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

Times like these, I like to feel lonely. I make myself feel lonely. I hunt for words, said & unsaid, and prick myself with them. I think there's a part of me that finds sadness beautiful; a part of me that enjoys the flow of thoughts and colours and sounds in my mind when tears spill. I sound mad, don't I? Sometimes I doubt my own sanity.

In the morning I saw two little boys standing in the back of a Suzuki truck, whooping with their hands in the air while the morning wind whipped their little faces as they drove by. I can't seem to get that image out of my mind. I love the wind. And its steady whispers. How it dances around me, tickles my cheeks, messes up my hair and wafts into my thoughts. I can almost hear it giggling while it glides around, never ceasing in all its joy. I have told you before, haven't I? I'd love to be the wind.

There are several marks of ink on my fingers and the rest of my hands. A heart doodle drawn by a friend, an accidental brush of a black marker that happened during Physics, the word 'Funny' scribbled untidily on the back of my hand and randomly distributed splashes of blue ink. Ink stains make me feel like the writer I want to be one day.

I hate when I catch myself discussing other people. People are who they are and the words I say about them behind their back aren't going to change them. What's the point? Besides, I have too many faults of my own to be focusing on. And there's something else that I read somewhere: the only part of the universe you can be sure of improving is yourself.

Baba is back from prayers and Ammi is calling me for lunch now; I can smell the aalo-bharey parathey.

No one's always there to listen. Thank you.

Love,

Me.

5:35 AM.

from the hazy autumn wind

a winter chill does reap

and underneath my blanket-

coaxes me out of sleep;

into the ringing silence

words slowly start to bleed

"prayer is better than sleep

prayer is better than sleep"

distant voices blending in;

heaven's loud whispers in the air

a plethora of such harmonies

calling me to prayer

and through my bedroom window

(i find wonder in such sounds)

the noise of someone's yawn floats in and

water splashing on the ground;

my mind wanders to the cheerful sounds

that adorns Medina's streets;

in my thoughts, i wander in the thronging crowd

abandoning its sleep

- i woke up with such sounds, such thoughts

that is how my day begun;

and don't you know? God chose you & me

to wake up before the Sun

The remains of your old diary.

i found the remains of your old diary;

torn and battered, but living still -

it talked to me more

than you ever will

the pages have a funny smell

(the way all great books do)

and once upon a time, i learnt,

that you were Fifteen too

there's only two pages: one says that you will keep it

until the day that you die

and the other is the living proof of how you went

to the bathroom & cried

there's a lifetime to guess, to sit and to wonder

what pages had lied in between

and all the ink that was blotted by tears

that never have been seen

the pages made me a cry a bit

(a tear or two or maybe more)

and i read and i read, again and again - the pains of

the year 1994

i won't be selfish and i will learn the words by heart

(some memories have no expiry)

and i'll bury a treasure for someone else to find;

the remains of your old diary

I lied.

i lied - i lied,

and i set the truth free

to cocoon myself

in fantasy

now i am afraid

(a little thrilled too)

that the wind might whisper

the truth to you

i'm in awe of the truth

how it stands, still strong

and the pleasure of a lie

doesn't last too long

you'll look into my eyes;

you'll clearly see

that i lied - i lied,

and i set the truth free

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

When I sing a song, I like to pretend that the blades of the grass, the leaves of a tree, a strand of my hair, the sound of the ceiling fan, the clatter in the kitchen; it is all dancing to it's rhythm. A huge fest of life & all it's melodies, floating in from here & some floating in from way over there.

I like when I'm in the car and the wind is so loud that it drowns my own words. That's when I sing my songs the loudest and no one seems to hear; the melodies are cleverly disguised by the sound of a rickety rickshaw paving it's way through the traffic. I like to pretend the harmonies float into the air, carried by the breeze and tickling the ears of someone, somewhere, listening to the same song.

A thought is special. Because it is entirely my own; veiled to the world by a wry smile or a face buried deep in a Chemistry text book. I wonder what thoughts are made of and if they have any language at all. Little people who are just four days old must have thoughts too, after all. Are they little disintegrated pieces of visions and words, infinite in all their being, constructed delicately with fragile pieces of imagination, so that when you manage to get hold of one and look into it, it is an abyss you fall deep into? (Wow, that was a long question.) Ammi says the good people will get to see God on the day of judgement. Maybe, just maybe, if I try to be good enough, I might have the chance to ask what brilliance these colours & illusions & distant voices swirling around in my head really are. They seem to be made of fluffy nothingness and yet, every great achievement starts from a mere thought. And the thought is the most powerful of all.

In other news, I'm having a really hard time studying. I have no motivation whatsoever. I think I work well only when somebody gives me a reason to do it. I told my Chemistry teacher a few days ago that I did not learn for my test because I'd been -well - busy (I really only didn't learn it). He told me that I had to give my test on Friday at all costs and I agreed. But then he added that he thought it impossible for anyone to cover such topics in the limited time of one day, and he thought I couldn't do it and told me he'd wait for my excuses in the next class. I was worked up. I woke up early in the morning the day my test was due and hurriedly went through the topics. By the time it was time for the test, I was prepared. The look on his face was priceless. And still, I've been sitting here since eight in the morning trying to cram something in my brain and failing miserably. I am so weird.

Although, I did end up learning one thing. The proton and the electron are oppositely charged but they're still atomic best friends; they work together pretty well. I hope I always remember that even though opinions may differ, the sense of meaning well will always conquer the difference in opinions.

The voice in my head was trying to be funny today. I'm very thankful for the voice in my head. It gives me things to write about & make spontaneous jokes with my best friend that I forget about two minutes later. She's skyping with me now. My best friend, not the voice in my head. See? The voice in my head told me to write that.

When I was little and put my hand in the cereal box to explore it's content, I pulled out the maximum number of honey loops my little fist could hold, because I thought that honey loops would get separated from their friends, so I should scoop them out & eat them all together so no honey loop misses another honey loop. I was just as strange then as I am now.

And there's pizza for dinner. Life's good. Thankyou, Allah, for blessing me infinitely. You & I? We're infinitely blessed. And, yes, I know I've said that before. I want to never stop saying it.

Thank you for listening.

Love,

Me.

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

I've been up since eight and haven't managed to accomplish something remotely commendable other than a few good laughs with my sister who didn't go back to sleep after Fajr. On a Sunday. I just got done eating a meal that was my sister's lunch and my breakfast. When there's biryani left over from a previous day's dinner, Ammi always says she doesn't feel like eating it and lets us eat it instead. I think she knows how much we like it.

I can't seem to watch a single movie. It's a funny story. My friend & I were sharing what we did on Eid in the recess, and she accidentally said that everyone in her house was studying when she really meant to say that they watched a few movies. So that's that. And we will now refer to studying as watching a movie.

Oh, and I remember another strange thing from that recess. Do you know how it was 11/11/11 two days ago? Everyone had created a fuss about it. Another friend exclaimed that it was eleven and that we should all make a wish. (Everybody raised their hands and started praying to Allah ta'la, which made me laugh.) I knew it was pointless, but I still closed my eyes, and I still made a wish. I hope you don't think that's childish. Even though I do not believe in superstitions, I believe in that part of me that will always make a wish while blowing a birthday candle. I think that just might be the most honest part of me.

I feel a little lonely this morning.

Anyway, I don't have much to say as I have to ramble. One of these days, I will look at this letter, remember this morning and maybe want it back. So I'm going to go make the best of this day and start studying.

And I hear Baba's footsteps approaching. I better run and pick up my books.

Thank you for listening.

Love,

Me.

an untamed fragrance whisks through the air

a blurry dream, a forgotten night mare

a tender fright, a tender hope

- thy beauty is a kaleidoscope

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

My brain would be a very strange place to be. There are millions of things muddled up in there. When I can't figure anything out, I find refuge in words. Ammi sometimes gets frustrated and asks me what the heck I'm typing. (Khuta khut, khuta khut as she describes the noise of me hitting the keys, with my tongue sticking out thoughtfully.) I don't know what to say to her so I look up and grin at her, never stopping in between. Well, partially to make her say again, "You can type without looking?" And add exasperatedly, with the shake of a head, "Today's kids!"

It feels like I'm picking up pieces of who I am as I move through life; assembling & re-assembling accordingly. A gust of wind blows a piece away and another puts a new one in place. Is this what growing up feels like? Besides, I'm my sister's height now and her clothes have started

to fit me. And I distinctly remember the moment when I'd asked my big sister when I'd grow long enough to start reaching to the top of the TV that sat atop a table.

Sometimes I surprise myself. Do you remember how I told you that I'd said, "My sixth sense says no." My suspicions were somewhat correct. The whole thing turned out a bid dodgy. I'll admit I was secretly pleased.

Yesterday, I had a good long cry under the blanket while my headphones were stuffed into my ears. That, and some sleep worked wonders. I woke up today reasonably content, and gladly rid myself off any apprehension. I'm thankful for the morning and the Sun rising up everyday; it makes everything a lot less scary and a lot less despondent. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, is a school lesson where the teacher said, "The light can diminish the dark, but the dark cannot diminish a light."

Speaking of school lessons, I remember a time a teacher had been leaving school and it was her last class with us. I think she came close to tears because she suddenly started blinking her eyes rapidly and somehow connecting the History lesson to what she thought was wise advice. And she waved her hands, and started blinking her eyes even more rapidly and said, "Life is not always some fantasy lands full of fairies and butterflies." I felt sorry she had to say such pointless things to serve as a purpose for rapidly blinking eyes. We saw her tears, anyway. People should not be afraid of tears. Even the clouds don't stop crying when there are people dancing in the rain.

There are billions of people on this earth, and God chose me to be Me. And if I'm thankful for my life, I'm thankful for the One who gave it to me. Some things tend to stick to my mind and I will always remember what I'd once read while scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed that went something like this: If everyone's problems were scattered across the ground, you'd be running to pick up your own.

Life is strange. Because it is nothing more than what death destroys in a second. And still we live like we will not be accountable in the end. And to forget your purpose of life while you live it is the saddest thing in the world. I pray to God that He keeps reminding me. Like He just did, through my own words.

I sincerely believe that all prayers are answered. Even if their answer is no answer altogether.

'You're in competition with nobody but yourself.' My English teacher said that. I need to remember that.

Thank you for listening.

Love,

Me.

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

I know it is late in the night, but I have to fill you in with this before I forget.

Have I ever told you about the three little people I love more than anyone could ever love them? They're my nieces.

One of them got up late in the night with a sudden craving for milk. "Mama, I want milk."

"I'll get up in a few minutes, beta, I'm a little tired."

A thoughtful pause.

"Mama, you're tired?" Another pause. "I'll drink the milk tomorrow."

I love them to bits & pieces.

Thank you for listening.

Love,

Me.

they tell her they hope the sun comes up

but she likes the smell of rain

they tell her everyone has scars

but no one has the same

they tell her it's going to be okay

but words rhyme better when it's not

they tell her to be careful

but she's wounded by her thoughts

they tell her she must keep fighting

(they tell her they will help)

but she and she alone

is fighting with herself

they tell her they hope the sun comes up

but she likes the smell of rain

they tell her everyone has scars

but no one has the same

when the Sun's about to set

my shadow only grows

and when i long for light again

only my shadow knows

there're million people i can tell

but i could guarantee

when the sun's about to set; my shadow

will always walk with me

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

The funniest thing happened today. I laughed for about an hour about it. I just could not stop laughing. I felt bad about it later, but it was just so funny. I hope when I read this letter later, I remember what the joke was. I'll be slightly cruel and not let you on in the joke, but just so you know, it is hilarious.

My brain hasn't been very co-operative lately. I sat down to write and couldn't come up with a single good line. So the former and the latter of this letter neither comprise of blatant attempts at wit, nor attempts to sound profound.

I'm perfectly fine one moment, and then I think about frustrating things and end up ruining my mood. I've frustrated myself, that's all. I'm sure there are a million things to look forward to, but I have this dilemma of being stuck in the past too much and convincing myself that what fantasies I've created in my mind will eventually come true. Alas, fate does not work that way. And when it doesn't, I've already convinced myself that it will. And then I end up frustrating myself and my head starts throbbing.

When things go wrong, I am not brave. I've noticed that. I bury myself in different thoughts and stay quiet until it's over. I think over every possible damage that could be a result of a certain decision or happening and tear my hair over possibilities even I know are not remotely probable.

People do what they do for a reason. And I don't understand how you can generalize someone as 'bad'. I can't disregard a person's intentions just because of a bad outcome. Most people don't mean to hurt other people. And most people don't understand how most people don't mean to hurt them. Mad is a small word for this world.

Onto slightly happy things. Slightly.

I happened to spend my evening with a frail, old Uncle recollecting memories of his youth. There was a point in the conversation where he'd stopped frequently to clear his throat to disguise his breaking voice. "You have time don't you?" ..I had all the time in the world. And I'll admit, I felt wonderful about lending a ear to long-forgotten tales, but most of all, I felt wonderful about him lending such tales to my ears.

He patted my head at the door, and the shine in his eyes spoke volumes. Some day, it'll be us, longing to be heard by someone who will listen. And some day, in the same way, I will tell a 15 year old to realize the gifts that parents are and to repay their love with love. God willing, ofcourse.

Today, by the water cooler, there was a group of five little kids, arguing over who was the eldest while the water tap ran. I remember telling a random Aunty that I was ten years old when I was five. That's just weird. And there was a kid today that followed us to our car and stuck her head inside and refused to leave while she rattled away the name of the owners of the other cars present in the area and asking ridiculous questions that Ammi tried to answer with a straight face. Lucky little people. I'd love to not care.

It's almost an hour past 12 now. It's one of my best friend's birthday and I still haven't started on the card. There's only a crumpled piece of chart paper left now, I need to remember to buy one tomorrow. I'm sure the frequent use of "Your birthday isn't coming up at all, is it?" in the past week hasn't ruined the effect at all. I'm glad there are people who know the crazy side to me and still think of me as moderately sane. For that, I will be eternally thankful. I also owe a card to friend-who-sees-tears-before-they-fall. FWSTBTF in short. Hey, that's pretty cool. I'll tell her about it tomorrow.

The only cat I will ever love is spelled with the letter 'K'. I remember sobbing near the kitchen sink and looking upto the kitchen window into a pair of green eyes that I eventually figured out were the cat's. But not before I screamed. Creepy.

And my phone is finally learning to accept that I tend to add the letter 'h' to words for no reason at all. It did not correct me when I wrote 'sorreh'.

I thank God for people & things. We're infinitely blessed. Yes.

Thankyou for listening.

Love,

Me.

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

Every little thing was irritating me a couple of days ago. Do you know what I did? I purposely made myself feel the weight of the two angels on my right and left shoulders writing down every one of my actions. Ever since I've started feeling that weight, my days have gone so much better. I've been remembering to do little things, bit by bit. It made me feel wonderful.

The weirdest thing happened this week. I was sitting with my friends during the recess and in the middle of the conversation, my friend said, "You're sad, aren't you?" . And I'd been laughing a few moments ago. The very fact that someone could be so wonderful so as to see a tear before it fell made my day that much better.

Today, though, I feel infinitely blessed. Eid always leaves me feeling grateful. Because when I'm invading my sisters' drawers to look for jewelry, or when I leave the dinner table with a face that hurts from smiling, or when I'm packing a bag of meat that is to be given away, I sit and wonder and wonder and sit; what did I ever do to have been blessed with so much?

The door bell has been ringing more often than it does, ofcourse. I hope the girl with the torn dress has a magnificent dinner today.

Today I'd said, "My sixth sense says no." It was actually taken into account. I felt so grown up. And to have brothers & sisters is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I thank God for a family that I will always, always be proud to tell you of.

People make wrong turns. And that's okay, as long as they're willing to steer themselves right when they find the U-turn.

Love,

Me.

A letter to You.

Dear You,

People are strange aren't they? Sometimes people you know start to seem like strangers and strangers in the street start to seem like friends.

You wake up one morning, and realize that things are changing. Are changing, have been changing, will be changing. And that's okay. Because, right now, you are where God intended you to be. I don't think the kid that grew up ever intended to suit up every morning and leave for a serious looking office. He'd probably sung nursery rhymes too, once.

I sincerely believe that people who have the hardest paths, have the better destinations. If my grandmother hadn't faced two or three snakes in her lifetime, she couldn't ever tell the stories we all know by heart by now.

Do you know what makes me happy? Just the fact that you're a great You. The greatest anyone will ever be. And the only You there will ever be. Feel special.

Even the darkest caves have openings. There is always a way out. Even though none of these ways will exactly be obstacle free. But if you've made your way through an ocean, you'll make your way across a river.

There is happiness. Of that, I am sure. Whether it's as small as a smile during class or an inside joke between two friends, happiness exists. And I wish you the best of it. With all my heart.

And there are people who will walk in, when others walk away. When people have nowhere to turn to, they turn to God. Maybe it won't go away in a matter of a second, or a minute, or a day or a month. But God's plans are greater than seconds & minutes & days & months (even though I'm sure He has mini plans for those, too) . It's going to be okay. Only things that are lost can be found.

Did you know that I will always be glad that you have lived? I hope you knew that.

Thank you. For the You that you are. And thank you, most of all, for the You that you are to me.

Eternal love,

Me.

P.S. You're wonderful.

P.S.S. Yes, you are.

A letter to You.

Dear You,

We're artists, you & I. We paint our live in smiles; with smiles. In words; with words. In rhythm; with rhythm.

Do you want to know a secret? I've been feeling down in the dumps lately. And then someone or something strolls into a bad day and helps me up. And then I fall into the dumps all over again.

I always wonder about the stranger on the street. I wonder what the kid sitting in the front seat of the car will grow up to be. I wonder about the home of the man on the motorcycle. Or the girl in the rickshaw pointing out directions to the driver. Maybe I've wondered about you, too.

My goats have been quiet today. I've always noticed how they're extra loud the night before the sacrifice begins, like they already know their fate. It's not such a bad fate, I think. I'm sure they'll get much more chaara where they're going, anyway.

Aren't we all stuck in time? Stuck in time, stuck with time. Not moving forward, nor backward, just stuck in the present. In the now. But, how strange it is, to be stuck in the present all this while and look back to see there are whole decades you've left behind. How strange it is, to be stuck in the present, always - and still have decades to look forward to & live for. How strange it is to be stuck in the then, the now and the will be, all at the same time.

A thank you is in order. Thank you for painting a universe with your words, and thank you for painting on my universe (which, by the way, translates as my blog) as well.

My parents never forbade me to write a letter to a stranger.

Love,

Me.

by a pool, by a lake,

by the shop around the corner selling cake,

while walking down the street, with tired eyes & tired feet

or in a crowded place filled with millions you've to greet

or while wearing your football jersey, plastered with the number four

- that's when you'll meet a person you'll love forever more.

"hello, dear stranger, how do you do?"

"i am doing well, and i hope you are too"

"it is strange to say the least, how familiar you seem"

"oh, i happen to be the person, the person from your dreams"

                    .        give this merry-go-round a ride
        switched off                                      
                                                                       (tinkling)
        when                                                                   ( far-fetched )
      you let go                                                                      dreams
           .                                                                       drowning
                                                                                           sounds
  while we move                                                                             of
 (  in circles  )                                                                                reality
                                                                         
  hold on                                                                                                         .
      .                                                                          up and down
                                                                                     all around
 it does not need                                                               come find joy
                                                                                      (and your own)
                                                                    cries of delight
anything that is not brilliance                   and all it costs is
                            (and)        .. .     sanity
       

P.S. Read it both ways around. Please?                                                              

Found.

the sky sent down sunshine

to dry away our tears

and at the crack of dawn

the birds sung away our fears

the whistling wind picked us up

and sent us on our way

when night fell, the moon followed us

to make sure we were okay

 and how it astounds

to be 
found 

by all that isn't human