Why can’t she be rude, manipulative, and hunter as the world has been to me? Why she carries my burden as her own? Why her eyes express love to me till the death of the moon? Why she pauses for my insanity? Why her eyes role back on my imprudent jokes and yet she laughs on them to make me smile. Why does her face swell up in gratitude whenever I present her even a petite rose? Why does she hold my hand all the time as if preserving me from wandering? Her actions exclaim a kind hold for all of my inhibitions, my failures, my reveries, and my futile wisdom. Why she still has that ring made of a candy wrapper, which ingenuously I did years ago. Why she caresses my hair whenever I lay my head on her lap talking naively about my endless desires.
Is she an angel everyone desire meekly or a saint or a blessing, I don’t deserve? That touch of her fingertips, her soothing skin, and her brown celestial eyes, her benevolent vocabulary, her magical odor all mazes me to this sulky world. The way she hugs my fallacies with her gracious emotions, leaves me with a tear in my right eye.
Oh the mighty God, give me strength, such that I can scuffle my vacillation, bring out the potent me and can give her what she deserves. The honor, the pride, the imminence of a BEING…
I met an old friend today, one of the nicest person I know, with whom I had numerous innocent child ridden fallacies. We chatted for a couple of hours, basically the whereabouts of each other. And then when he left with a promise to meet me soon again. I was jibed by a question, why do good guys get nothing, neither the fame nor the love? Are they meant to deal with atrocious life, because they are good and can make way along?
Our friendship started when I was 5, on mutual pence of cricket. Our amity grew over time and over batting partnerships on the cricket field. Our camaraderie wasn’t appreciated by my father, and he was very reluctant to it. Why? Perhaps he was the son of a household maid, a single mother, who used to work in our society to earn their living. I wasn’t old enough to fathom this reason, and even now I dearth that age.
His father left them stranded when he was very young, and he grew up with this pungent feeling.
I recalled he had only two dreams since young, one being to make her mother happy and gave her a lavish life, and other was to marry his love, a girl I didn’t knew much about.
As time folded my way to college, with a different life and different set of friends, I lost him. And today we met after such a long time, only to find about his lost love and a paralytic mother, and his sunken eyes with forgotten dreams. But he didn’t complain either about those desirable dreams or about a lost friend, me. And I was jibed by a question, why do good guys get nothing, neither the fame nor the love?