Choice - in retrospect

She always tried to choose between right and wrong. It ripped her apart, sometimes her heart and sometimes her beliefs; sometimes causing rift between both. Testing, retesting and then repeating the loop. She always made an effort to choose the right, regardless of how she'd have to sacrifice and what she might have to lose. She contented herself even if she did lose something in consequence, or perhaps be left with pain; a drop of which always lasts longer than a flood of happiness.

But then suddenly, life would make her path such, that all her right choices would become wrong, and she would shatter, all over again. Choose, all over again; choose to collect and put back together the pricking shards of her fate-beaten existance. Try to solve the puzzles she found, in the process, form some more new ones. Choose again, between right and wrong; and unwittingly wait for her rights to become wrong again, passively.

The incomplete end

It was raining very hard. She was very happy for the rain.
It hit her petals hard, and the pain it caused soothed her pain in an odd way.
It hid her tears, her warm tears against the cold rain.
She cried for him; and for them.

She had feared this pain, but not in this form.
She had thought, believed, her star would not be affected.

Yet, it had finally happened; worse than she had expected.
She thought she'd break only her own heart. but she'd broken his too. What was worse, with her love.
He had dimmed, had lost the twinkle she loved.
The twinkle, she now knew; she had given him.
So she let the breeze sway her without complain.
Stealing her fragrance.
Hurting her, easing her tears.

Each tear made her love him more. Each hurt her more to have caused him to be hurt.
Hurt through loving her. Simple, pure undemanding love.
She cried till her heart became cold, lost all the warmth of his love in those tears.
Tears as cold as the rain.

brittle ties

Her name was common. Common to all households, to the world. They all knew her by it, except the one for whom she was, her name….mama. she knew this was her identity. But she knew it not, she liked it not, behaved it not and definitely excepted it not. She was mama. The one who gave her birth. Brought her daughter into the world, and made her hate it. Used a sword invisible, to cut through love and respect. She used insult to kill her own effort, and those that were her own.

She knew what would kill another woman; the words, the acts, the manipulation. These weapons, parts of her, she knew well to use. Perfect timing and precise aim. She used them till she killed her. killed mama; and became….just another woman.

Money

On the 3rd of November, she died, after a long illness. She had passed many tests of endurance. Tests of patience. Lost the precious, yet persisted. In the face of opposition. Stood, stood her ground and firmly so. Undeterred by whatever hardship was thrown her way, she had to of course. She was love. Love of the material. Love of money. Wealth being health; and when the funeral was, she was discussed and what she had and what she could afford. Afford to feed on her funeral. Feed her hungry sympathizers – richly.

Pigeon Island

As I sit here on pigeon island, the reef on the beach making my ass sore, I experience the feeling of being just blank. Just watching the sea passively and moving back each time the sea reclaims its territory from me, wetting my feet in the process. Absorbing the bubbling sound of the water as the waves pull it from between the rocks, before another wave comes crashing back with a fierce vengeance. The water hits the broken reef on the beach and and splashes, spraying on me, right through the leaves of the tree I’m perched under; holding my cap to keep it from flying off of my head. The bubbling, crashing, washing and the spray of the water become music together. A song with ever-changing meaning despite the same lyrics each time; in a repreat loop fashion. An orchestra led by the maestro herself, the beats; bubbling, crashing on the reef and washing and trickling off the rocks, all an obedient servant.
Bubbling
Crashing
Spraying
Making the sea… sing!

Disobedience

It was her disobedient little heart; which kept fluttering, skipping beats at the nuances of his presence; his twinkling. It tickled her, the fluttering. Made her smile, unreasonably. Smile a genuine, genuinely pleased smile. She knew it was not right but she liked it. It made her feel pretty, it made her feel wanted. The garden envied her, and craved a star to love. There was a forbidden thrill about these smiles that she smiled to herself. It was the thrill itself that she was growing to love. It wasn’t him anymore. He was just the sparkling, glimmering excuse for her to get thrilled. No more. No less. She felt abliss. Safely content, with nothing to lose.
She had never felt her heart so light before. Light as a bird, floating on the wind, so effortlessly; seamlessly gliding from one cloud to another. She was living in a dream. It may not have been hers, but a dream it was; and she knew it. It was this knowledge that made it even more pleasant, and even more lucrative. She knew it wouldn’t last long, and decided to live it. Live in this dream. Enjoy it while it lasted. Embrace it while it let her. Embrace the dream each night she saw him, do what he did best; Twinkle, and love him for it. Just do what she did best, love his twinkling. Not let what was best about it – the thrill of impermanence – hurt her. For once, let go; just let go.

Ignorance

She saw it from her spot in the night. The dark, silent night; twinkling away. It was love at first sight. She loved the way he twinkled, different from all others. As it grew darker, she felt closer to him. He was also drawing closer. She was sure of it. She adjusted her petals her petals to look prettier, and swayed more gracefully to the wind. They were about to touch. But the light was approaching, and made her see. See the distance between herself and her star. The distance that the dark had been shielding uptil now. She knew she had to ever-share him with the night. It was her that he belonged to. It was she who made him twinkle. Her painful solitude came to her rescue. Her only comfort. He would only twinkle in her eyes now and she would wait for the twinkling to dim and become the pearls commemorating the sublime moments where her love blossomed and perished before full bloom.