Sometimes, when I am alone with a warm glass of tea,
beside the pitter-pattering window, fending off the heaven's tears,
I go very still and silent.
My pensive mind, gravitates towards the deepest, darkest moments of my frail life.
I ask my mind, "What do you wish to trouble me with today?"
"What is love?" she retorts.
"You know that which hurts me the most", I say blithely.
"As if you couldn't ask me anything else"
Said she, "Oh but asking you something else,
would not justify this mood, this solemn setting"
She is right, every funeral needs a eulogy,
and this setting is a catalyst for a grave discussion.
My mind becomes a prism, splitting asunder this single question of her's,
into a near infinite palette of possibilities.
There it naturally, gravitates to the disappointments.
Love lost in a thousand different ways.
Sometimes, it was because I was not how I am supposed to be.
At other times, it was because I was too demanding.
And that one occasion, because I merely wanted to be cared for.
And then again, because all I wanted was.. well... love.
Each time, I went back disappointed and bitter,
but coming back fresh and anew,
hoping, not losing faith in the elusive emotion
But there is only so far, a man can go,
before he needs his warm glass of tea,
misting the glass through which he looks.
"I am tired", I say.
My mind, points me to the only conceivable truth
I must be unlovable. Undeserving of love.
All I asked for is a few sweet words,
A lending hand, when this heart weeps.
Instead I got distracted dissertations.
All I asked was for a warm smile,
assuring me that all will be well,
Instead all I got was mocking humour,
showing me that I am weak.
"I must be unlovable", I said to myself.
The pain, of this naked truth, pierces me like a thousand pincers.
Shattering any hope, any joy that remained in the shadow of love.
Leaving me as desolate as an abandoned playground.
It is precisely these thoughts, that rained down as memories,
It is precisely these feelings, that swamped my heart.
As the hot vapour from my boiling tea, clouded my eyeglasses,
A mist like fog descended upon the innermost echelons of my soul.
And then, just as a cloud moved away, to reveal the dazzling sun,
just as those first warm rays of the day demisted my vision,
and indeed my dew covered soul,
a voice spoke to me from within, a message from the heavens.
"You call yourself unlovable, you say you are undesirable,
and here you are, standing defeated, having giving your heart and soul to the world.
Don't you see my child?
A man is defined by what he gives, and not what he gets.
You have given love, infinite, boundless.
What does that tell you about yourself?"
"But I failed", said I
"Never mind", said he.
Now, that voice grew from a distant whisper, to an all out thunder
"What can you say of the thirsty traveller who disregarded the sweet well?
What can you say of that busy man, who passed over the daffodil right beside him?
What can you say of the mother, who was too busy arranging things to make her child happy,
whilst the child smiled for no reason at all?
What can you say of the people who do not recognize love?"
"Beauty may lie in the eyes of the beholder,
But the absence of beauty imbibing eyes, does not indicate its absence everywhere"
Child, you have given, and that shows, that you have something to give.
One who refused to take, cannot receive anything even if showered unto them.
You can give love, because you have love. You have love, because you are love.
You can only give, what you are"
With that, the voice disappeared.
Leaving me empty, and yet strangely peaceful.
Dear mind you asked me "What is love"
I now know.
"Love is who I am"
Lover of all things beautiful - nature, classical music, literature, poetry, craftsmanship, books, yoga, meditation, the natural sciences, cooking, carpentry, scrubbing and cleaning dirty floors, walking, breathing, existing.
View all posts by Akhilesh Magal
Very touching brought tears to my eyes. Strange coming from a sweet lovable person.
On Sat, 28 Nov, 2020, 11:46 PM Journey of a thousand words, wrote:
> Akhilesh Magal posted: ” Sometimes, when I am alone with a warm glass of > tea, beside the pitter-pattering window, fending off the heaven’s tears, I > go very still and silent. My pensive mind, gravitates towards the deepest, > darkest moments of my frail life. I ask my mind, “What ” >