She resolved, only her words could free her. Express her angst, express her demons, express her hopes, her unicorns. She had tales to tell. Give the world stories unspoken of, unimaginable places to visit, a place more beautiful than dreams but hints of reality too. To present a scarred hero not a perfect one, to write about the fat lady with golden heart, to give speech to the suppressed and oppressed. She just had to write to be alive

Perhaps you are more than a friend

You read my mind as if its a transparent window you are looking through
You see my wrinkles, my worries, my dark circles like flawless mirror.
You sense my sighs, you cherish my smiles, you show me way, when I am lost
You aren't just a comforting factor, perhaps you are more than a friend.

A visit to Pondicherry

The long awaited item in my wishlist has now passed on to be fulfilled.
2 days of journey to Pondicherry was a mixed experience.
The hot sun attempted to dampen our plans to see places but our spirits made a way to fight the humid air and fiery sun to explore the city.
A beach walk in the evening, a visit to the french colony, five minutes of silence observed in Samadhi of Mother and Sri Aurobindo, awesome food in some of the french styled restaurant, beautifully sculpted art materials and crafts on display, book stores, bakeries, photo studios, jewelry on display, incense sticks and ashram made products for sale in the nearby stores offered to please my senses.
I would remember some of those things for a lifetime, it has become part of me. A search for divinity, peace and meaning beyond our current existence is what I experienced in spiritual hub of India.

Soaking into Pablo Neruda's wisdom of love and below is my favorite one

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” 

Now "we" make sense

The clouds that gathered around us are slowing settling down.
So we see each other, though not too clearly.
But you do understand don't you, that I cry equally when I am happy and when I am sad.
I always have this dreamy eyes that freaks you out;
that there are layers to me, ones which would take years to unveil.
But hang on you are almost there.

We are together, but there are spaces, spaces in the  way we think, most of all what is square to you is round to me.
I wonder why we don't feel have the same perception when we see the exact same object.
I grieve that I am a householder who wanted to be a saint and you grieve the saint still living in me.
Our feet are tied together, we drag it in the same direction, but our eyes catch the fancy of the exact opposite things.
I see beauty in solitude, but you like the crowd, the cacophony.
We are still together, I guess it means something.

After a decade I decided to resume writing, as if ages of dissonance has come to settle down in mind. It gives me the same feeling that you experiance when you visit your ancient house, a house which is an imperative story teller  of your memories. It enchants you with the vivid imagery of your past, your life, something that was once part of you and you feel like reviving it.
Things have changed I am a wife now. Some take changes quite easily, but for me it was gradually sinking in. And life continues to exist, in the same unusual way that it had been.
More dreams, more turbulence, more efforts to keep it going.