Racheting up

She lay there, in the darkness of her room. She had left the verandah door open to a view of the two swaying Asoka trees inching into the night sky. She watched the rains pour in copious sheets and paid attention to the clichéd pitter patter. The trees swaying rhythmically. One of them hit by the heavenly neon glow from the street lamp post and the other, dancing in an angelic white tube light lit illuminati. In the silence of her room, she wished peace and quiet would appear. She never thought of silence as golden. It was just a deceptive twin of peace and quiet to her… and then thoughts of him crossed her mind again.
This happened for the millionth time n the last four months. The queasiest in her 22 years of existence. He’d left her and gone. Left her in a lurch, without any prior notice. Her wall had crumbled the one that stood between her and her insecurities. Since that day, exactly 4 months ago, she went looking for peace everywhere. In the silence of her locked room, or at the pond as she sat by its edge and watched the raindrops create soft ripples in it or as she jogged against the direction of the wind while listening to the blues. Water to her was therapeutic. It soothed her anger, calmed her nerves, balmed her pain and suppressed her hysterics how could he be so selfish and do this to her? How could fate do this to her? He meant the world to her and now her world had crashing down…reminiscence of their college days set in. how the madness reigned over every other feeling. Even over their impulsiveness. Now he was gone all she had were memories of craziness, of dancing all night at a smoky night club on a sultry night, then driving full speed to a cliff to watch the sunrise and still make it back on time for the 9.00 am lecture. Memories of zipping in and out of class, breezing in and out of the library before an examination, his pet cat Pierre, sharing notes, home cooked food, a tear, a wish, laughter, hope…. And several things that came with the innocence of late teenage years. She smiled at the thought of him…he was her best friend, her “platonic best friend’’ she’d say proudly with her arms around him in a sisterly embrace. She thought of the last time she pecked him on the cheek. The last time before he breathed his last…
… it was the night he went out on his motorcycle and collided head on into a truck. The night she pecked him for the last time on his cheek as he lay battling for his life.she didn’t leave his side for a minute. Her tear streaked face in an obvious state of shock. Then he died at 3.45 am in the morning. Just like that, he stopped breathing. She froze in the cold silence that enveloped her.too stunned to weep, to speak or move. The funeral rites, the wailing mourners. The grief-stricken parents and family. Her face a stone cold. She did not weep, not a tear, not one in the last 4 months.
A sudden loud noise from the kitchen broke into her thoughts. She pottered slowly towards the kitchen. The stray cat had sneaked in again and dropped an earthen pot that now lay shattered on the floor. She scooped the cat into arms and cradled him. “Pierre’’ she whispered to him as she christened him and burst out into tears. She bawled and howled for hours. When her sobs where subdued to whimpers, she told herself to accept it and move on.she bent down to tidy the shattered remanants of the pot.she had to pick up the pieces and move on…

A woolgathering wanderer

A blazing twilight
Didn’t seem too real.
On a spaced out night
That’s how I feel

A violet aurora
That broke my heart
The end seems closer
Now that we’d depart

A woolgathering wanderer
That’s what I am
Constancy is all a sham

I’d sit in the field and tug at a root
Or fly off to some sandy beach
Watch the crackling wood let out soot
Or listen to the son of a man who used to preach.

A woolgathering wanderer that’s what I am
The hazy sun would be alright
Or the melting clouds, a breathtaking sight
For this wanderer for this woolgatherer