Dialogues from within

When you are by yourself, do you ever think of the world? About the vast galaxies beyond our reach. About the the happy moments being celebrated. About the solemn moments being observed. How often do our thoughts wander far away from home? How often do we think of masses of people walking in the streets, working under the Sun, or asleep in the comfort of a shelter? Rarely. 

The wooden floor creaked with every step, some panels threatening to give way with slightly louder crackings. Even in the dim light, it was clear the room's only ornaments consisted of coats of dust and a few hundred paintings. Some on the wall. The proprietor sighed and made his way to the last painting at the end, certain of his resolution. He was certain, yes, he was certainly taking it down.

"What are you going to do?"

Her. It was her again. She tugged gently at his sleeve, her eyes widened pleadingly.

"Alright, alright, not today. 2 more days, and that's it, alright?"

She nodded and her eyes wandered away to the painting.

"It is so beautiful."

The corner of his lips curled up, as if to smile, but his eyes were devoid of happiness.

"Beautiful, yes, but unreal," he replied. But his words held no effect, her countenance remained gay, partly wistful. Resigning, he added, "Though, of course, the subject must have been quite like his portrait. The artist is very well-known for his art."

"Too well known for this one. He looks as if he is looking at me so pensively it is hard to look away, you know."

"After all, what is art if you cannot connect with it?"

"His hands- they are almost as if ..as if..-"

"It is a famous portrait, my dear."

"But they are so real."

"I beg to differ. If you know the subject,-"

"Oh! Will I know him? Do you think I shall ever be acquainted with him?"

"I am afraid that is most impossible and improbable."

"Such a pity! When this painting is gone, what shall I do? What shall I do, indeed!"

"Why, you will no longer trouble me!"

"Don't always talk so! But pray tell me, why shall I not be his friend?"

"My dear, strangers do not concern themselves with little ones like you. Now, now, don't be so downcast. Is it not the portrait you enjoy?"

"Isn't the portrait based on a model?"

"I did not say it was not. But the portrait- it only shows you what is pleasing to be shown. In fact, this portrait is perfection, did you not think so? That is because it was only meant to convey perfection. But the subject is not. He is just like you and I and anyone else, really. Inside, we are all a little defective. His defects..they are just not seen superficially."

"Still, I would have like to..¬"

"It will be just another painting that fades away from your memory when you stop frequenting it."

"I don't think I ever shall- how can I forget those dark eyes that the stars can't outshine? They watched me sometimes, I think 4 times, I dare say they wandered towards me."

"But galaxies await them- why should they stop to pacify you?"

"And I could feel it, you know, the gentle movements- oh, and how, I was so close! I could feel the warmth. I would like to feel it always, but you are taking it away and I will have it no longer."

"And there is that. 2 more times and this space will be empty. Don't fret over it, lass. It's not the only painting in existence."

They only wandered...towards the dark and dingy storeroom at the corner of the delusional street, and often found themselves lost and duplicated, in the gallery of memories. 

Minute

Those stars, twice upon which I was graced with their radiance. But maybe I imagined. Maybe I conjectured. No matter, for it is no comfort to know those radiance will fade, their owner, gone, before I get to know,..

And I? Just a speck of dust in the endless galaxies they roam ever upon. 

In a moment

so transient,
Your name will no longer be endearing.
your presence, would no longer require endurance.
but why do you press at your heart so
and make me forget my resolution
why do you have to look so

I pray you, stop
more
don't look so vacant
the keenness do accentuate
but I do not even matter

it will be transient
and I will get better-
no more silliness- I,
won't let my guard down
for now, you own.

Your perfection is misery inducing.

another 2 and still enduring
your perfection.
all I see
-perfection

The writer must write what one cannot express! If only. This too shall pass. But God give me patience!

And 3 more

And no more. I would say, "au revoir" but I would not see 

And I would forget the grey skies 

Your dark eyes - pray, 

Let me gaze 

One last time 

A+++

I said hi. It has been almost 6 months when last I saw him. In the same light blue shirt. His short structure and assuming gait. Almost 3 years ago, this figure was intimidating- almost detestable. Well, don't I remember, having been a victim of the accusation, "Copied work?" But that was long ago. Now he uttered his surprise and our discourse drifted into a painful reminder of a summer long past. How everyone is doing now, how they are doing now, how I am doing now..

He told me, "Think for the long-term. Don't be swayed by temporary ...."
I assured him I would not, I would try not to.

And then he asked, "What do you think of doing?"
I laughed uncertainly, mumbling along the line of "going with the flow" and "whatever I can get".

I did not think I would ever hear them. Or that I was capable of it. Or that I was deserving.
Of hearing them. But he replied.

"You can make it."

I am grateful, to have been a pupil of such an extraordinary teacher.

Remember when

I told him I have done a terrible thing.

He said,
no.

You've done many terrible things.