Writer's own thoughts!

I wish I was not this ambitious for every direction I have gone demanded me of a bereavement for everything I leave behind.  In teaching my arms how not to tremble while carrying them.  In hiding my tears,  My voice not shaking while saying goodbyes.  And, my soul not escaping the ribcage while tightly grabbing them. I don't want to let go of them - those who are my people.  Who have ever known my grief,  Who have understood me beyond my cold  exterior, tears pushed back behind my smiley face. Those who have read between the lines.  I don't want to lose them at all.  I wish I had wanted less. Perhaps, then the people I love would have remained within arm's length, Their laughter echo in my ears, Their faces not blurred for poor net connection,  And, timezones not differed that would make seeing them difficult.  I wish I could always touch them, feel their presence.  Cuddle them tightly and keep them in front of my eyes.  B...

  There is a strange grief reserved for those of us who have lived our lives learning the arithmetic of departure - who have folded home and bits of themselves in the large suitcases, carried entire neighbourhood, relations behind the ribcage of their hearts. They leave. They move on. They had to leave.  They no longer hope or believe in permanence. Because, each time they saw home within something they had to lose it. Lose it in the cruelty of situations. Still, they carry a part of them everywhere they go. They keep furnishing the empty rooms with the tenderness of belongingness and ownership - no matter how temporary it is. Each time we leave, people ask us about the thrill of new beginnings, the excitement of exploring new streets, building new homes- within people and spaces in a brand new city. They ask me how do we feel who are just messengers of love and devotion, of sincerity, who keep moving one city to another- ever migrating, ever moving begun from childhood and la...

May Almighty, in his immeasurable capacity and wisdom with his trembling mercy never weave my fate with the melancholic souls those who ever found peace in my ruins, happiness in my helplessness and who took my fractures for pleasures, humbleness as weakness and who lingered at the altar of my griefs and named their fascination and need for my dependence as devotion. May those who adored me most when my voice found no place, my words vague, my tongue wrapped with uncertainty, when my boundaries dissolved like salt in the ocean, never reach me when I become an island.  When my spirit fitted into the molds not meant to hold the vast spirit of mine, when I craved the crumbs of affection, may they stay far away from my belongings and I may stay out of their bounds, out of their reach, may their malicious hands never touch me again. Before that, may their filthy hands cut open and get drained in the guttery drainage.  As there are those people the world is filled with who do not ch...