Lotus Kisses

We are two people in an empty room

Furnished with people.

Talking for hours,

That feel like mere seconds,

Feeling overwhelmingly drawn to each other.

Sharing laughter.

Our minds connecting.

He comes for a kiss.

The magic and sparkle

Walt Disney would should try and trump this story, for

The lungs require his air alone.

Wanting only those beautiful kisses

For a lifetime.

Giving into him,

Without hesitation

Every mark he makes is permanent.

Feeling locked and

Happy with the permanency.

 

When the kisses draw to a close,

Whilst being held securely in his arms..

Enveloped in each other

As a lotus

At the height of intimacy

He asks you with such purity..

 

“How come we wasted all that time talking?”

 

Despite the wisdom of age,

You don’t believe the true meaning of his words.

 

 

 

 

 

You foolish child.

 

 

 

Because if…

In answer to your question.

Because if you really did like me you would have made sure you spoke with me on the phone, not just by text.
And you would have called me beautiful, hot is just about sex.

Because if you really did like me you would have messaged me first, not simply responded that you were thinking of me.
And you would have not waited for me to call on you.

Because if you really did like me you
would never be okay with someone else, and me perhaps sometime, someday.
You would never let me walk away.

From,

The Fair Tanzanian.

Heartbreak

You broke my heart. But the thing is you didn’t break it in two. You didn’t stop it from working again. You just broke a little piece of it. And you can keep that little piece. That little piece is all you will ever have. I hope all the little pieces of others’ hearts amount to something tangible for you, someday.

Some Day

In 2001, when I was 10 years old, I asked my parents if I could visit my biological family. It was out the blue, but I only had to say the word and they immediately obliged.

I flew unaccompanied to the town in India where they lived. I spent two weeks getting to know my biological mother, father, brother and sister.

I had a great time. My favourite memory was on the back of my sister’s moped. She was an awful driver, which is why I loved it so much.

Two weeks came to an end. At the airport the air hostess was waiting to take me into the plane. As my family said bye I turned my back and started walking away from them.

My biological mum pulled me back. She gave me a tight hug. She knew I needed it, although perhaps I was too young to deal with the emotions myself. She assured me, as if reading my mind, that I could come back someday. Maybe next holiday. Keep visiting. This wouldn’t be goodbye.

In turn everyone gave me a hug and I boarded the plane.

Despite her words I was fighting back tears as I stared out the window. The air hostesses surrounded me and, I imagine because they didn’t know what to do with an emotional 10 year old, they gave me all the sweets they could find. I didn’t even like the sweets, and to be honest I didn’t want to be distracted from my thoughts, but I appreciated it all the same. They kept checking on me. In moments I stole for myself, to stop the tears, I recited her words and promise of another visit some day. Christmas holidays were only a few months away. I could come back. “I will come back soon” I told myself like a mantra.

I came home, back to my parents and my family. A birthday passed by, a new school year ensued and I became distracted with day to day life. I cannot remember whether I asked my parents if I could visit them again.

November 15th 2001 was when we received that phone call. Diwali day. I was home from school. I wasn’t feeling well that day, a minor sore throat which typically I would have gone to school with, but because of the festivities my parents had relaxed the rules. I was painting a Rangoli in the front porch.

The shrill sound of my mums voice as she picked up the phone call. What will happen to us? My ears perked up. Had something happened to my Dad? I was worried. I immediately stopped my painting and sat down on the sofa. Then she took my brother and sisters names. Relieved that my Dad was okay, but concerned that she had taken their names, I wondered what had happened. I curled up on the sofa and faced the wall. I knew it was bad news. That is when she told me. My biological mum had died. It was a car crash. They didn’t know how the rest of the family were doing, where they were, or what exactly had happened to them.

We went to sit at my biological grandmother’s house. En route my Mum played the Hanuman Chalisa whilst sobbing throughout the journey.

I was numb. I didn’t feel pain. It was surreal. I had no words, no emotion. Was this normal?

Over the years gone by I have processed the events. I never felt like I grieved my biological Mum, more her promise of “someday” and the relationships I subsequently didn’t have the opportunity to forge. Although I saw the rest of my biological family again, it was never the same.

To this day some day means never, and good bye means forever.

Reality

White hot rage is what I feel when I think that, I, an intelligent, focused and driven woman, expended energy thinking about you.

The naivety of my decision to exchange moments of lust and passion for months of tears and sorrow shocks me.

I sit here, starving but not hungry, tired but not sleepy, awake but not alive. While all this time, babe, you are blissfully asleep.

You don’t care. You never did. I should have seen it. But I was blind with infatuation. Overcome with hormonal emotion.

What a fool I am to have built you up to be my hero. What a fool I am to have believed your empty words. What a fool I am to have trusted you.

When you read my last message, the one that said that I can’t think of you as just a friend. That I must move on. Tell me, were you in the arms of someone else? Did you lose even a second of your peace?

The sad thing is I only have myself to blame.

At least, I finally learnt to love myself.

First and foremost.