Never before today did I mull over such random musings. But as I finally took the plunge in this ocean of mystery, with the current of conscious taking me down, I finally opened my eyes deep underwater to a world I've lived in, a part of which I've chosen to love, to build my home in and wherein I often retire a refuge. While on the surface, I might come across as the most uninterested, glaring a beautiful painting of a rainbow with indifference while others can't stop praising it, what I am really searching is amalgamation. While solid vibrant colors might be pleasing, my eye seeks the merging, the co-existence, the harmony. Today, in a quest to answer myself, I threw at myself another plethora of questions.
Why I prefer:
Shadows over spotlight?
Clouds over clear sky?
Fog or rain over a sunny day?
Moon over the sun?
A blur over a definition?
Sharp definitions more often than not turn castles to clay. Enlisting a set of rules spoil the beauty of discovering a game. Love won't rhyme minus the pain. And how I'd rather let dreams run their course rather try to get a grip on them in paper and pen. In a haze, it's not the walking through it that tempts, it's the challenge of opening up to a situation wherein many cease to. Being lost in a maze and then catching sight of that one narrow opening is priceless. Where the definite solidified form of it breaks glasses and hurts, snow, on the other hand, lovingly blankets the land pouring love to the seed that turns a rose, come spring. How that name written on a fogged glass bears a certain magic to it than the one written in the most beautiful cursive in ink. The incomplete, I'm professing here. The blur, I am speaking for out of sheer love.
Never do I bind nor like being bound, being tagged or playing on the periphery. I leap in. And then learn to swim. I live in a blur of smiles, of colors, of lights merging with the dark, of tears giving way to words that no laugh can circumpass.
I, willfully, submit to shadows.
I embrace the walls of time separating us.
I, for a century what seemed, have loved a voice with no face to name.
I would rather race raindrops than make the windscreen wiper take the zeal in them away.
© 2012 Neha Choudhry