if i wanted to write...i wud write about ur silhouette amidst
the sundry ..i would pen down how everyday you live like a ghost in your own
world.. how u walk n never leave a foot print.. how you have forgotten to
sing..if I wanted to write..i would write about how many times you were raped..
how many times you bled and how often you sin..
But I am not here to write about you, i am here to feel the
flame on my fingers. I am here to describe your peels of laughter, your
glittering vogue and your favorite Dior.. I am here to remind everything
mortal about you – the grace and the glory, the power and the dictatorship ….
If I were to talk to you, I would ask you to leave – pack up
your bags, close your eyes and leave.. Leave before anyone can stop you, leave
before I can remind you of your chores .. I would ask you to sing – shut your
door and hum…shout out your anger and not stop until your tongue bleeds… sing
before they can silence your soul, sing before the whole world turn deaf…
But I am not here to talk to you..i am here to ask you questions, mostly the unanswered
ones.. I am here to ask you about the day you were born…I am here to ask you
about the day you made love…
If I were here to hold you, I would pin you to the bed and
melt you down..all your glitz and glamour and your virginity – I would take
them all down and make them look like bundles of thread…I would take you out in
the rains and admire your tears, I would choke you and not let you speak…
But I am here to hug you instead. I am here to correct your
speech and lecture on the correct use of grammar and punctuations and maybe gift
you an Emily Bronte .. I am here to dress you up, I am here to walk by you in
the parade …
Of all the things you once told me…the stories of the fall
were always my favorite… The ones you ended with the flowing skirts and the
white socks - the ones where you had a green briefcase , I could nearly see the
smile in your eyes…
I want to write a story, about a little girl..who could live
and die at her own will and had somewhere to run… a story where she somehow
managed a train ticket and reached a far away land. I want to write a story,
the one which would end with both of us waving each other goodbye…
