Reality

"Jodi tor daak shune
Keu na ashe tobe
Ekla cholo re"

(If your call goes unheeded then walk alone)

Powerful and highly inspiring words by a great man which transcends the boundaries of language, time, age. Many have drawn strength from it in times of despair. I am no exception.

My life isn't picture perfect. Not even close. It is, on the contrary, a canvas on an unsteady wobbly mount. Swaying, lilting, fluttering or at times firm like a rock, absorbing the splash of colors, letting the amateurish patterns hide those couple of masterpieces by those rare aficionados. Often I have tried to stop the hands that spoil the painting, to stop the disastrous strokes, but in vain. I look around for help. My calls for succor go unheeded.

I walk alone.

Alone I tread along.
Answerable to none.
Liable only to my soul.
A picture of strength.

 

Pictures aren't always perfect. Neither are they always honest. Then again, they are at the mercy of interpretations that are slaves of our experiences and prejudices. So while the world jeers, sneers or admires my stubborn solitary walk, I close my eyes and thank them all who never leave me to walk alone.

Vulnerability. Cajoles me to walk blindfolded assuring that it is best to walk with my soul bare. 
Experience.  It always reminds me to watch my step.
Impulse. Always at loggerheads with Experience .
Hope. Biggest supporter of  Impulse and always trying hard to repudiate Experience and rewrite it.

Audacity. Endorses the merits of Solitude.

Angst. Urges me to leave everything and run away into oblivion.

Facade. Shielding me and smearing the rest too, with an imperceptible layer of gaiety.

They never leave my side, hand in hand, twisting, sometimes swinging, interlaced fingers or pushing and shoving. Even when my patience leaves or my ego turns it back on me, thanks to my companions, I never walk alone.

Broken

Gaping wounds.
Those cuts that show the mangled insides.
That layers of thin vulnerability join to guard.
Ugly.
Painful.
That takes an eternity to heal.
That blind spot.
The scars remain.
A reminder of what had been.
The pain never really goes.
Only the mind numbs the hurt.
The heart wraps it and puts it somewhere deep.
Till an innocent little scratch tugs open the surface.
Out spills the rotten stink.
Time seldom mends what is broken.
Cuts don't heal.