The bubble deflates, Dreams scatter as tiny particles of reality Slowly evaporating into its insignificant frame,
You are slipping by slowly —The days, the hours, the Moments, The silent combustion of Memories, Ashes burning the osteoblasts, Thoughts hiding between sheets of cloud albums, Forgotten petals of the smog — I saw your soul,
I came to me when you opened your heart, Ceiling of love, mosaic of trust, ‘Home-ing’ my secret sighs, Sleepless nights of insomnia and ideas, Witness to a naive mind coming to her own,
Parking reminiscence in the palms of forced amnesia, Where the sky features the nimbus unicorn……
Ocean of clouds move with me — The sky, a spectacle in dry sea, Water-holders the mermaids, And sun moving like a whale, creating golden splash,
Ripples of unfamiliarity cuts Through you, Reverse aging skyline crowding the scrapers, stars feasting on young dreams, Yet familiarity croons, forgotten Melodies knocking at remembrance’s door, Echoes of days in the sun, adolescence riding bicycle of flash snapshots, Mind looking for afternoons of leisure….
They are here now —
But you are slipping away Slowly Like an end Like an end that signifies change Like a change that ushers a beginning A beginning with a key to an exciting world of unknown The ecstasy of the unknown dunk In happiness The happiness I should feel now But….
When I closed my eyes then, my childhood played hopscotch,
When I will close my eyes now, I will be reborn in the arms of non-fugue vision, wrapped in the geniality of knowing self….
Hiraeth. Of some kind.
He thought for a moment. “I would begin by teaching you a Welsh word. Hiraeth There’s no equivalent in English.” “Hiraeth,” she repeated, trying to pronounce it with a tapped R, as he had. “Aye. It’s a longing for something that was lost, or never existed. You feel it for a person or a place, or a time in your life…it’s a sadness of the soul. Hiraeth calls to a Welshman even when he’s closest to happiness, reminding him that he’s incomplete.” — Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne
Conversation Cafe:“I’m here’, the sun seemed to say, ‘I’m right here’.” ― Bianca Viola, Dreaming of Hiraeth. Who knew bricks can evoke separation anxiety. For me, my would be ex-home was more than a home — my second cradle where I was re-born into a new me. Every thing I do now has its seed in that house, helmed by a creative atmosphere soaked in music, books, adventure and pure exchanges of mind and thoughts — and it’s time to say goodbye.
The place I created and which curated me back to what I am today, is an image I will hold as honeyed cache of depth-delving for the days and years to come. Just that every time fumes of recollections fill my heart, it gives birth to drops of saline laden pain, I try to gulp.
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