A walk down the memory lane
Sitting relaxed with back leaned backwards and eyes trained on the moon, being in peace with all the chaos and even with every new layer of weight around this heart, I tap my fingers in tune with the wind. Trying to come up with some rhyme for poem reminds me of my very first poem.
It was before a decade, I had hardly entered teenage and how excited I was to act as one. Oh, how I was so upset with everything that went on this world. I remember that rainy day, I had reached to a state where I could no longer wait for Santa to act upon my requests for it was unanswered for almost five years. I remember complaining to the father in our school church asking him to tell God to change the Santa as the current one wasn’t working properly. For some obvious reason he was amused with my complaint and had asked me to myself demand God to do the same. He had given me a short cut to reach God that day. The confession. I followed. I confessed about the prank I played, that being the only deed I thought should be counted as wrong. I remember burning my hand while lighting the candle ‘cause I was so nervous talking formally with God for the first time. I had written a formal letter for Him for all the tasks He had to perform as per my advice. After that first heartfelt conversation, I waited patiently for a week for God to act. And like always He took too long.
I had been super upset by the end of week and it had been raining and seeing the lightning I came up with the conclusion that it’s God peeping in earth to check on us. I hurriedly took a fresh page from my favorite book. With my favorite pen, I thought to be gentle with God this time. Instead of some formal letter, I wrote my first poem. Just to make sure that He likes it, I jumbled up the sentence just to make it “rhyme”. How rebellious my first poem had been, with lots of may be and if not, asking for changes in every single thing. How non content I was and how I thought my poem could change the world. Little did I know that day how poem was supposed to bring the change, not in this world, but in me.
Now after almost a decade of writing poems, I realize how this world is still the same place, too messed up to be alive here and still one of the most messily beautiful place we could have ever be in. And if anything, it’s me who has changed, changed for better.
The letters and poems no more intend to change the world. It’s more of an effort to make sure I am in peace with the way this world is, accept things as they are, of course the ones which couldn’t be changed as a human.
How utterly amazing this journey has been within myself. How unapologetically I have been in love with the pain and suffering on every road I took. How immensely proud I am of all the scars and this ruined armor. How terrifyingly I adore being a human right now, at this very moment. I am feeling everything I never knew I was capable of but at the same time, I am nothing but content with every moment, every single one which is yet to come…
Between the misplaced words of that first poem,
With every unanchored line I ever traveled thereafter,
And betwixt all uneven spaces of the words,
I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be.