You and I

...palms rise to the universe

as we... moonshine and molly

feel the warmth, we'll never die...

...we're like diamonds in the sky

“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.”  

- Pablo Neruda

.......

And there are times when I wish to take you away; and just disappear. Few days, few months, few years. I can't exactly say when but someday, the world would finally forget us. 

That day we would melt into an ecstasy.

Love. Emblazoned on our hearts.

"You see, I divide men into three categories: those who have a lot of money, those who have none at all and those who have a little. The first want to keep what they have: their interest is to maintain order; the second want to take what they do not have: their interest is to destroy the existing order and to establish one which is profitable to them. They each are realist, people with whom one can agree. The third group want to overthrow the social order to take what they do not have, while still preserving it so that no one takes away what they have. Thus, they preserve in fact what they destroy in theory, or they destroy in fact what they seem to preserve. Those are the idealists".

- Jean Paul Sartre

“…I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.” 

― Franz Kafka

Don't go. Don't let me go.

Chah na rakheen

'Ishq te aashiq doho barabar.. atey ishq da ta vadera..'

.......

I am watching the snowstorm outside. She's going through my playlist. Exploring, shuffling... never at peace. A pattern so recognisable, an impression so palpable. And then she gives up, keeping my phone aside, succumbing to her quiet self; yet again. There is no more music, the room is filled with her quintessential silence... I must speak before this silence becomes too loud. 

'He says.. love and fire are the same..'

'But love hurts more, no?'

I take a sip of my coffee and turn to look at her. She expects my answer, but I am not sure what to say. Her naive anticipation almost makes me smile. 

'I don't know really...  not so experienced with fire'

'Hmm..' she looks down. Seems to me as if she grew ten years in past ten seconds. 

'You know.. loving is trance.. perhaps almost the only thing that makes me feel good about myself'

'Isn't trance a delusion?'

'...perhaps that is why it hurts more?'

............

Aatish paani nal bujheyn di

Ate ishq da daaru kehra..

From where I am standing right now, some twenty five thousand feet, I can see almost everything. Or perhaps, almost nothing. It is so quiet, as if the God's speaking to you. You question the cold, the darkness, the melancholy... and then the realisation. Yes you have brought no one but yourself up here.

Karlovy Lazne. Prague. There you would find him tonight. His last in the city of Kafka, his first of this year. It is strange how time never stops, never withdraws existence like every other thing does. Love, as people abandon you. Love, as you abandon people. God, as He ceases to exist at some point in your life; as soon as you begin connecting with the darkness within and around you. Hope, when it dies with the diminishing light of your father's eyes.

May the perpetual light be, if there is any, with those departed.

The year 2012. Love. God. My father.