…you raise it and slow it as if it is yours, as if you hold the accelerator in your hand. It is not a plaything painted in red for you to play with it like a kid. It inhales the red water and exhales it not with the glimpse of your eyes that is how not it has been designed but fortunately that is what happens. Stop not your glimpses; let me live.
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You hurt me always like a child hurts her mother’s bosom; let it be with any angry or anything, it neither gives anguishing pain nor torment in any of the mother’s veins but a sense of feel of attachment, a selfish motherly love.
In your vanity I enjoy the joy of being hated by a little angel. There is no tradition in the past or present to love not the one who hates. I still adore your vanity admire your pride. You are my pride, what not even if you do not want to be my bride you are still my pride. Falling in love with an angel is not just a just fact it take hundreds of years to realize the love, incarnation after incarnation, which is above what the humans are blessed with. How long I can wait! Though it might take hundreds of long years for an angel to realize my love, how long can I wait!
Till the masterful sun burns itself to nothing – I can wait, till the day the shameless moon stops begging light from the earth – I can wait.
Sometimes, in night mother sleeps leaving her child in the cradle and a sudden cry makes her wake up to cradle her baby to and fro and that is how you wake me up in the mid nights with your gestures in dreams and oscillates my mind to and fro. You crawl in my mind in my neural ravine, and instead of reaching my brain you reach my heart.
You taught me how to persevere in any pain, though, with diminishing confidence but what is the relationship between love and confidence. Mine is not a war to acquire any land or wealth it’s a tradition of perseverance for winning a beautiful heart of goddesses of wealth. Though it’s a diminishing confidence, no mother stops feeding her child just for a reason her child bit her bosom the last time; only a motherly love knows the treasure in the pain.
…exiled, I feel, when you turn your back to me and unbelievably I feel venerable when I thought I still love you. The days without you were the days in the space – I neither I grow old nor young – where time do not exist.
Will a day come, you will sit next to me looking at something else and I will be looking at you alone and nothing else. I will try my best to make you understand what I have gone through being in love, being alone thinking just of you.
What if you didn’t understand? What if you do not want to hear me? What if you do not want me to talk about the past?
But …if you pull me towards you, grabbing my checks with your rosy hands and say ‘I am yours’
...say you are mine
...say you are mine.