Through those windows....

it still rains…

The monsoon has been here for long. Too long precisely. When it is raining and cold the minutes are short. Too short precisely.

The table beside my favorite window and my books on it. The lonely cup of tea and some thoughts in their usual disorder. It always makes me feel uneasy. The thoughts in disorder I mean. I moved from one window to the other. The rusted iron bars of the old window left the smell of yesterday on my palms. Those summer vacations of early 90’s, when my world was small and my hair was not long. There are stories but let that be.

What was I looking for indeed? Each window had a different view. And different thoughts. Tiny wild yellow flowers that I saw, I wonder, did they ever have a name? Touch-me-nots, I wonder, did they ever know how good it feels to be touched?

I felt the humid air inside my room. It made my skin moist and my cotton clothe damp. I wanted to free myself. From a lot of things. But forget! For then it was getting worse. Unbroken minutes of breathing one’s own breath over and over again in a closed room of memories. Windows were many. But ........ The very moment I only wished to run into the rainy open sky. Breathe the wet soil & feel the raindrops on my face.

Finally I opened the door and walked out.

There was no rain, no wild yellow flowers, and no touch-me-nots. Why was it there through the windows and not there then? Why did it all look so beautiful through the windows? Why did it pull me out from where I was?

Maybe this was what I was searching for. Vague beauties of my imaginations that never could survive in reality. And will never.

The monsoon yellow flowers that withered away….nameless…forever…