Just a Woman

 “Have you seen her? I have asked the same question, again and again, throughout my spirited journey and not once, have I had an answer to quench my thirst.

 

I urge the colourless rains to pause and give cause as to why they’re ashen and poisoned.

 

“Have you seen her?” I ask them, for such sadness is only hers and hers to inflict.

 

They don’t answer me, they never do. Perhaps, they haven’t touched her skin yet. Perhaps, they too look for her.

 

“Oh colourless, in her pursuit, I suffer. And if I see her someday, do you have a message for her?”

 

“Like the sunlight, through the sand in the air, after a desert storm, her skin gleams of purity. Tell her, the colours were never ours.”

 

The fires perhaps, the devil’s apprentice!

 

I urge the fearless fires to bow and melt the inner soul for it is cold now; yellow and dismayed.

 

“Have you seen her?” I ask them.

 

Salvation within their sacred heart escapes. They pretend to burn in the fire of ignorance. Perhaps, they have burned her, for it is the only way they can love; for what is love without the massacre. Or perhaps, they wait for her to love them back.

 

“Oh fearless, in her pursuit, I suffer. And if I see her someday, do you have a message for her?”

 

“Like Vulcan in the ancient Greece, they worship her. Tell her, the wrath was never ours.”

 

Disappointed and broken, I seek solace in the arms of the winds.

 

So, I urge the winds to stare spite of the restlessness; for they are caged now.

 

The fires were limped and irresistible; the rains were hopeless. Who better than the winds to give me a new hope?

 

“Have you seen her?” I look for hope, I search for her.

 

They stay still, staring into nothingness and they murmur her stories. They have the burden upon their shoulders to carry her legacy. Perhaps, they haven’t caressed her yet. Or perhaps, they flew away with her.

 

“Oh boundless, in her pursuit, I suffer. And if I see her someday, do you have a message for her?”

 

“You look for a woman with the colours of rain. She could be in your heart and you wouldn’t identify her. You look for a woman who has the wrath of the fires and yet, you dare pursue her.”

 

“So, you choose to stay dormant, with no message?”

 

“Tell her that like the imagination of a poet, she’s free. The wings she has were never ours.”

 

“Who may know where she is, then?” I ask the winds before they surrender to her memories.

 

“Ask the crescent yellow moon. He has never been so passionate, never so bold. He has witnessed the dark and the first Christmas that was merry.”

 

The moon shone like a crazy diamond like her love had given him the reason to shine. The moonlight could burn your skin; yes, it was so intense.

 

So I urge the moon to swear on the passing preachers and end my misery.

 

“Have you seen her? I ask him, with worship in my heart, but not for him.

 

He cannot stop singing the joyous hymns. Perhaps, his light is the home of the woman I look for. Perhaps, he is the one god she fell in love with. Or perhaps, he celebrates to have never met her, for what joy lies in separation from such beauty?

 

“Yes, I have! In the last days of the last summer, when the sun could no more lend me his light, I found her! I was desperate to keep living and in the darkness, I found her! She was radiant like I used to be in my prime. She was beautiful, like the first Christmas. And then, she had the colours I had known to be the robes of the rains. They worshipped her with fear; the fear Vulcan had gifted to the fires. And then, she had wings, so luminescent that I dared to ask her for her light.”

 

“So, where is she?”

 

Oh, the end; the beautiful end to my journey!

 

“She lives within me, within the light of my heart! The sun is long gone, and it is her who keeps me alive. She rests in peace, inside my heart. What is it that you humans say about the one person you love the most? Yes, she is my reason to live. She blesses me with bounties and ecstasies a man can only dream about, yet I cannot touch her. And in these times of love, only do I realise that love cannot be found upon searching. Love seeks a home for the wounded and lands up where the wounds are deep and the ache is unbearable. Go home and live in the light of a woman too beautiful to be captured in words or imagination. And every night, when a ray of moonlight touches your skin, know that she knows about your love. She cherishes it whilst you stand the only man, after me, to have not tried to buy her love.”

 

“I have messages from the rains, the fires and the winds for her. What do I do with them?”

 

“Forget them. There are far too many superior forces in love with her. She doesn’t need their colours, or fear, or the wings. She was complete, already!”

 

“Does she have a message for them?”

 

“Tell them, she never really wanted their love, and that in her final moments, she demanded your presence and not of the mighty gods. She was just a woman who lived to find someone who could love her for what she was. But those gods, those worthless mighty gods started showering gifts upon her only to disappoint her. Tell them that it takes a heart to love a woman, no matter how beautiful. Tell them, she was just a woman; just a woman! ”

 

 


 

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  • Shreya Sinha

    Beautiful!