Living

I try so hard 

To bury the memories 

Of brighter, happier days

I try so hard 

At willing life, 

To eclipse this undying grief

I try so hard 

To build my own story  

New chapters and faces

I try so hard 

To render memories new

To outlive the ones of you

I try so hard,

Again and again and again...

But every step I take

Aimed at the foothold of hope

Dissolves silently into

A deceptive cloud 

Of loss and sorrow.

Every step I take, 

Mimics the alien dance 

Of a confused harlequin 

In tune with the recurrent 

Beats of separation

Again and again and again...

Yet, I dare to build 

Grand dreams of hope

And ensconce them safely 

Within seemingly sturdy walls 

Of faith, of Strength, of Grace

Only to realise 

How vacuous 

The spaces within are

How lonesome 

Living in one's own head gets

How terrifying it is 

When the trapped darkness 

Claws at the walls

How exhausting 

The battle of conflicting 

Thoughts, needs, and desires are 

How clueless 

I am about myself 

How unprepared 

I am to move on without you

Again and again and again 

Yet I try...

I try so hard...

My life without Mukund has been terribly difficult, life has thrown some disastrous curve balls at me and I am amazed that I am still standing..but whoever said time heals, was lying through their teeth..time heals nothing..it just hardens you..it teaches you to deal with loss and loneliness, to overlook the sinking sensation that disorients you everytime you think about Mukund and a future sans him . In fact, there comes a juncture, where I hear a stranger from within me, yelling in agony, to stop, "Don't think, Don't think, This is torture", it says. And I heed its words for my own survival. I succeed to do so for a few moments, sometimes a few days, rarely more than a month and then..the dams of restraint comes down. A deluge of lonesome, angry, bitter and grievous emotions flood my very existence. It presents itself through muffled cries, buried into pillows; in harsh words uttered and regretted; in sleepless nights and ceaseless dialogues with darkness; in lonesome, inexplicable tears that spill out without warning; in torn chocolate wrappers found aplenty in dark guilty corners of my bag; in forced smiles and impulsive shopping sprees in search of temporary joy; in unplanned and adventurous forays  into zones of discomfort,in search of a new identity, alien from the one that I now own, the one that becomes whole only with him; in unanswered questions born from the mouth of his babe, wreaking havoc in my head; in conversations with him, that I can barely start before dissolving into tears, in spite of it being four years since he left. Then, the distress abates, the pain recedes and the violence of emotions is stilled. I struggle, but I still strive to pick up the pieces and build the dam up again, pushed on by the hope in the eyes of our child and her fervent demand for an eternity with me... a hope, she voices once too often in her insecurity. She is too young to have grasped the inevitability of death, that peaceful end where I hope to meet you. But, somewhere deep inside she understands its ruthless nature, and holds on to the only tangible hope..me. So in my need to not die... for her...to not die while living.... for me and to live ....for you, I build the dam, brick by brick, hope by hope, with precious faith and battered resolve. I do this, knowing that it will all come crashing down once again..but maybe, not now. Definitely, not now.