The woman in the saree

She looked so beautiful in her blue and gold saree.

Her face radiated like the reflection of the sun in the waves of her pallu.

Her stomach glanced from behind the cloth like a shy bride.

Her curls grazed her shoulders like the fingers of a maestro on his instrument.

Her feet slithered on the ground like naked children on a rainy road.

And her hands stroked her knees to ignite the first sparks of life-

That life that I saw in her eyes,

as she slowly looked up..

Towards me.

How long had I been in love with her?

How long had I been?

Home

I’m home now, and all I want is silence.

Silence that reminds me of all that I felt yesterday, when I looked at that waterfall. The water rushed into narrow crevices, and the bubbles seemed to coalesce right before it was sucked into the vast expanse of the lake. They were lovely bubbles because they reminded me of how people are: how they come from different places and garner just for that brief moment before they are thrown into an unending void of the Future. And as they collide with that edge, they change colour from blue or red or whatever they fancy reflecting, into a pure white enragement that is froth.

Even such simple things in nature connive such paradoxes. It is these intricacies that entangle my coherence. It is the gushing sound of the water, playing in my head over and over, that shushes me and reminds me of the beauty of the unspoken.

I felt like I was home then.

And in the silence of this instant, I am home even now.