{Words By Anas Nin, From The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz From Diagnosis,The

{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz from diagnosis,The glimmering room}

A rusty almirah may hold

no importance to any,

But it was his favourite.

It belonged to his inamorata.

It stood in the corner

Beside his bed, governing.

The magenta colour blazing

in the dimly lit, dusty room.

Every saree in the almirah,

a colourful page of their life.

He'd run his fingers through

the soft material, gratified.

In his days of strength

He complained, repeatedly

When she stood in front of

The almirah deciding on her attire.

The stickers had decided to

stay longer on the skin of it,

Some scraped and some attached

Each telling about a trend then.

In his claustrophobic life,

The almirah stored contentment.

The key to it too; held a sweet

Monochrome picture of his wife.

He'd sometimes stand still in front

Of the mirror of the almirah

looking deep within as if

He could meet her eyes through.

The rusted handle cold,

much like when he last

held her hand tight with

no absolute warmth or pulse.

Now grey with weakness,

He only wishes the almirah

To stay by his side, making

up for his late wife's presence.

-Umme Ayman.

“She is the master of reincarnation, dying each time her thoughts dwell on him.”

— Noor Shirazie

Windward the kite swirls indefinitely.

The thread stings my palm like a new cut.

And I let go off it.

Solivagant

My mind keeps running back to it, no matter how much I distract myself, the thought never leaves me alone, like it's embedded in my brain, isolating itself pushing away any rational thoughts that try to erase it. Centralizing thoughts was never my thing but never once did an idea dawn me to this extent. It seemed like a age old rule tempting me to break it. My conscious running on the commands of it may be for the best. The idea of suicide creeped inside of me three weeks ago. A pleasant day without any banter, peace coursing through the house but settling with heavy grief as I knotted my black tie around my neck, Nahyun had left a message about his grandmother's death and as his friend I needed to be by his side. I was though a little worried about his lack of grief towards the news of death, his grandmother was always the brightest light in his well lit life.

The atmosphere in the venue reflected Nahyun's feelings and response. I tried, tried my best to coax him into showing his emotions, letting out the raw frustration he was masking behind the straight and pale face but when he answered saying, 'I think everything is fine now, she doesn't have to deal with any more pain. Sometimes death is the solution', I believed him.

Maybe it isn't that bad of an idea if I can't get it out of my head, I mean what more pain can a person suffer after death? No one knows what lies beyond but one does know what's going on now and it's better to seek solace in trying to find an end to the ongoing misery. If Nahyun's grandmother is in a better place, so will I.

Though rather, hers wasn't a decision, but an expected yet unwilling turn of page to where she needed to leave the book behind. It's for the good.

______

But throwing away everything just to get rid of pain..? Is it worth for all I've lived?

Every question was blurred by the previous decision, I mean what choice do I have left, living amongst those who judge me for my preferences, abandonment throughout life, Scrunching nose with look of disgust when they ask me about myself and the hauntings of failures and heartbreaks.

Now, four weeks later here I am, a bottle of pills clutched in my left palm and the right hand resting on the edge of the bathtub, the silent room filled with loud clattering of my teeth. This is it. I didn't care with the goodbyes, didn't wanna be distracted with hollow words of hope.

Assumptions and accusations will be made but I won't be part of it, just the reason for it. They'll have me locked up one last time in their worries.

This is for the best. This- has to be for the best. But.. I'll be gone, forever. I'm scared but I have to do this, I'm useless.

.

(A/: I was currently working on this, so decided to post. Please show some love)

I remember the itch to grow up,

To be strong and tall 

like everyone else in their lives.

Shift to the portal of future

that held only bright light and nothing else.

At that time, I didn't believe in tragedy, 

The galaxy in my eyes blinded it away.

For I was just a child aiming at the moon,

With no worry of the past and present 

I only know the moon and it's dreams.

The school days were a breeze,

My childhood, a well lit summer.

I didn't see the hurt in the olders

or the treachery in their shadows.

I just spoke, spoke my heart out.

But the path to the light was so endless,

So long and exhausting with experiences,

With no shade and no arm to lean on.

It hurt, with the realisation of nothingness 

And the dejection of reality.

I, now itch to go back in time,

Steal the deluded, innocent memories 

And orbit them in my mind, until the reel 

is torn and the reality fades,

But my conscious wants to at least let 

the happiness linger with younger me.

If not her, then who else?

Deserving more to keep high the expectations,

to cling onto a deserving future.

Deserving more to feel the warmth in cold tiles

Because I see her and can't help but think I was her.

~ Umme Ayman.