Dear You,
It's been a busy Saturday. I see my dupatta soaring on the clothing line and the slightly disheveled cat looking at with great interest. Even though the winter winds are being stubborn, Noise has learnt to intervene and it isn't quiet anymore. It's been rather loud, and the kind of loud that I am grateful for. I could never hate the tinkle of laughter adorning the rattles of a sewing machine and wonderful faces and souls to accompany every bit of joy that comes their way.
But I am to grow, and I am to feel and learn to ache. I am to spring and wilt and shed myself away in words, because that is what everybody says. Come what may, I am never going to stop believing that all the Bad in the world exists only in itself, that it is detachable and that it can never devour Me or You as a whole. Because there is good. And God created it permanent. In me. You. Us. And that I can hear it and see it if I listen and I look.
People and places have been on my mind and it is sad. It is sad when you know they are there but they've grown blurry and distorted inside of your thoughts and you can't see them. But I love their silhouettes, still; it is enough to remind me that I've shared my sunshine with them, and that it felt beautiful.
Maybe I will let loose and you will know me as the girl who rode the breeze and grazed her knees because she shut her eyes and ran. I could, and I would, run and I'd run till someone called me back. But that is a dream and I must remember to dream it when I do not have piles of homework to conquer.
Today brought me a heartfelt narration of a grief stricken woman, who I imagined to be wrapped in a brown shawl with sequins falling off. Ammi said she'd been crying because she said the doctor prescribed her a medicine that cost her two hundred rupees. And she did not have two hundred rupees. And it made her cry. God works in strange ways and He puts people and places in perfect order, so that they come and they go just in time. Nobody should ever forget that there is God and He listens, because The Woman In The Brown Shawl got her medicine and she prayed because she was happy.
For everything; for books and sounds, for two hundred rupees and for the roof above my head - I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank You for listening.
Love,
Me.
It's been a busy Saturday. I see my dupatta soaring on the clothing line and the slightly disheveled cat looking at with great interest. Even though the winter winds are being stubborn, Noise has learnt to intervene and it isn't quiet anymore. It's been rather loud, and the kind of loud that I am grateful for. I could never hate the tinkle of laughter adorning the rattles of a sewing machine and wonderful faces and souls to accompany every bit of joy that comes their way.
But I am to grow, and I am to feel and learn to ache. I am to spring and wilt and shed myself away in words, because that is what everybody says. Come what may, I am never going to stop believing that all the Bad in the world exists only in itself, that it is detachable and that it can never devour Me or You as a whole. Because there is good. And God created it permanent. In me. You. Us. And that I can hear it and see it if I listen and I look.
People and places have been on my mind and it is sad. It is sad when you know they are there but they've grown blurry and distorted inside of your thoughts and you can't see them. But I love their silhouettes, still; it is enough to remind me that I've shared my sunshine with them, and that it felt beautiful.
Maybe I will let loose and you will know me as the girl who rode the breeze and grazed her knees because she shut her eyes and ran. I could, and I would, run and I'd run till someone called me back. But that is a dream and I must remember to dream it when I do not have piles of homework to conquer.
Today brought me a heartfelt narration of a grief stricken woman, who I imagined to be wrapped in a brown shawl with sequins falling off. Ammi said she'd been crying because she said the doctor prescribed her a medicine that cost her two hundred rupees. And she did not have two hundred rupees. And it made her cry. God works in strange ways and He puts people and places in perfect order, so that they come and they go just in time. Nobody should ever forget that there is God and He listens, because The Woman In The Brown Shawl got her medicine and she prayed because she was happy.
For everything; for books and sounds, for two hundred rupees and for the roof above my head - I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank You for listening.
Love,
Me.
2 comments:
oh Lord! Thanks For Butter & Bread & Chai.
& Aaisha's Awesome Letters to No one. 'cos there is always someone listening, reading in silence.
^ Thank you, that means a lot. <3
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