Forever yours…

The pursuit of love is a never an easy one, many search all their life for the one thing that they have read about in poems and prose in vain. Many lose heart and sadly many more lose hope in their pursuit of the love but sadder still is the lives of men who settle for much less than what have searched for.

Love the platonic love ( love has to be platonic there is no other way any other is but a compromise of the nature I foretold) is never easily found, for if it where easy and abundantly available what value would it ever hope to possess. The very fact that love is praised and priced would only mean that it is exquisite in nature and magnificent in existence. One has to born to the star of great luck, on ones birth the gods must have smiled for him to find what he seek and forever perish in the holy union of what was ones severed by Apollo himself. I believe now that I am one such soul, inadvertantly lucky.

In your arms I find peace for the whole world melts into heaven in a place so holy as that. Against your bosom my heartbeats newly into thine in one melodious symphony of life. In your lips dies I and reborn I am as the prophet of love only to die an infinite times more and be born again every time a bit wiser a bit less blind. You are to me the creator and the destroyer of worlds and when we are one, us is infinite you and I are infinite we are infinite. Forever yours.

In this hour when our families have embarked together on a journey that will forever bind their destinies as a shared heritage. I prophess my love you renewed and as blazing as ever.

I am declaring our inevitable engagement now, details and time and date will follow suit in due time and with due diligence.

Beautiful Mornings

These mornings I have come to love, they have remained the same but then they are a constant reminder of the one thing that has not changed with us. Even when the hair fell and the skin wrinkled and as the small golden ring slowly bit into our flesh, this has not changed, these beautiful mornings, slowly waking up from the clutches of sleep and feeling that warmth of love clinging to you. It is as addictive as it will ever get with love, it is as much love as one can ever take. It is love and love alone and one can never seem to have enough of it.
Living and loving are not one grand expedition nor is it a luxury cruise. There will moist certainly be luxuries along the way, there will be meadows with green grass and beautiful flowers, there will be the wonderful music of brooks and the solidarity of woods. Even if it turns out not to be luxurious it will most certainly be happy. But that will not be all that is to it, there will storms and there will be dark clouds that slowly crawl its way over the marvelous dreams that we so incipiently weave. Even while as I was writing these wonderful words of love I am scornful at my lovely wife for she just bugged me insipidly. For she must know what I am doing and is convinced that whatever it is that I am doing, I love it more than her and this time she may very well be right.
Every fight revitalizes the relationship, you fight and you get it out of your system. Then you make up, apologize and make slow and passionate love as if you two where separated for an eternity. That is how you make it work and make it last, the fights and the thrown China is as much part of this voyage as the reckless careless love that we inspire. But one thing must be remembered not all fights are meant to be won some are to be lost as others are to be won, because your loss your victory as well.
Now are you wondering what has all this to do with the beautiful mornings I was earlier describing? Each of those mornings is a rose and they have their thorns. Every morning as you wake, as you glance at the angelic face, with eyes closed, face calm and a small unperceivable smile hanging on her luscious lips one must realize that it is love that is sleeping with you love that is both beautiful and thorny. Slowly when you kiss her temple and take in her scent, gently as you press her to you and feel in you, her heart beat that is the beauty of life that is love. When in your dreams and in your passion your heart beats as one and when every morning at the sight of that woman your heart skips a beat, that is love. And such love is made with great patience and utmost care.
PS: I no longer scorn at her but has a smile on my face that says that I can’t be angry at her long enough and at the first sight of her when I sneak out of my study, I will embrace her and look into the beautiful eyes of hers, I will kiss her on her soft lips just like our first kiss and the many first kisses hence. That is our love unspoken but forever expressed.

Bon Voyage, Cousin!

Cousins


I got a call a few minutes ago, it is impossible to call it a call, all it was a monologue of half a sentence long. A string of words from him and an uneasy silence on my part, that’s what our conversation was. Can I call it a conversation I am not sure, but one thing I am sure of is that the feeling were genuine, even though my response was brutal and highly prejudiced.


Before I divulge what he spoke and what its implications are, I must tell you who he is and what he meant to me in another era. He is my cousin that much I am sure you would have guessed and here is more about my cousin that you would need to know to understand our relationship and its prejudices. I am willing to write about him only because I know he will never read it and even my stupid family will never stumble upon this, it will be buried deep in my archives waiting for an occasional visit and will eventually be forgotten. I guess when it comes to my cousin my ungratefulness extends to such a level that I could not even remember his name. May be its true that when relationships are forgotten through time and when they gets buried for so long in memory even blood shall lose its flavor.


He is cousin or nephew I know not which, I suppose I never got hold of their distinctions and I sure am not in a mood to look it up now. The fact it makes no difference what so ever to anything that I have to say or what I feel. His name is Vaishak and he is the son of fathers only sister. My father comes from not a wealthy family and he climbed up the social ladder (so he claims) on his own through much hard work and perseverance, hence his crude mannerisms. His love for book is perhaps the only personality trait I inherited from him or all I want to inherit form him. But nevertheless unlike him his family was not so lucky, I am not pretty sure whether “lucky” is the right word to use.

Bon Voyage

His sister’s marriage though happy is not with someone whose second nature is to have a rainy day account. This nature of his always left them at a state of perpetual poverty, never too rich never too poor either, kind of in the in between. This though in contemporary society is regarded as unfortunate, this has preserved in them a sense of innocence that is seldom seen among the corporate animals that roam the concrete jungles. They have simple taste and even simpler lives, something to envy I guess. 


My mother has instilled in me prejudices so coarse that it took me 21 years of my life to clear the soot and look at it with any clarity of mind. Such has been the extend of the prejudices that I forgot that my father actually had a family. It was like things in a fairy tales that are too good to exist. But I must Say my mother is not a bad person but pride and ego can do terrible things even to the amiable of angels. Don’t hate my mother I beg you, she doesn’t deserve that, She was only protecting me from what she had convinced herself was bad. Nonetheless her actions deprived me from understanding life as it is in its raw form. Alienating me from people who were earthly and volatile the same. I had to learn the art of being contended at the smallest of things on my own, to cherish the wet mud that molds my feet and the sight of the rare blue butterfly or even the smell of the virgin earth being touched by the mighty rains hands. But I ended up spending one third of my life learning these things when I could have readily understood it all, It was all there just outside.


I still remember the time I had spent with my cousin, the times we bathed together when we were children in the small open bathroom with mulberry bush hanging from one side, Splashing water from the little tank that use to store the water from the well. The little garden with all the beautiful flowers and the tasty mulberry bushes. The many a wonderful evening spend playing in the faint stream that ran by the green paddy fields. I still remember the small aquarium he had, a small one, with so many little fishes in it. Nothing too fancy, no expensive fishes just the ones he had caught form the nearby stream. He had even taught me how to catch a fish with nothing but a plain piece of cloth, Alas! I had forgotten it, I had forgotten it long ago I suppose along with the sweet memories of that era.


It surprises me how much there is to tell, I never knew the faded photographs in my father’s old photo album had so much history, so many memories in it. I never knew that the characters in those pictures had a life and they were more than their innocent smiles and that they were ones very much alive. Strange what one phone call, a few minutes of someone’s voice can accomplish. I don’t want to tell anything, may be another time when I feel I am much more ready to face the truth of life.


He had called me now to tell me that he is going to Qatar, in search of a job. I am sure he got a job in there where his other uncle works, I did not so much are bother to ask what he is doing and what job he got. I did not tell him anything but I did pray for him, pray that all that is good shall only befall him and I prayed him Bon Voyage.