The Moist Eyes

Tumbling down the terrain of unattended emotions , I stopped at you. You my dear, my old torn self who has always felt attracted and driven towards the mysterious , less travelled road. I often ask myself, when does one’s life become monotonous and dull , what is it that makes it regular and why is there such a strong urge to live differently. Do we all feel similar ? Where are these thoughts exploding from ? Who is the volcano in my life, pouring out the lava of doubts, words, amends, names, regrets, hurt, anger and what not. It was never simple but it was also never so complicated . There is some relief , some relief at watching the blood quietly bleeding out, emptying you of your life and releasing your soul from the ties. 

How many more years to drag, to explore, to bond and un-bond, to love and to unlove , to discover and to hide, to cry and wine ? The journey seems a bit tiring, with moist eyes but uncannily pleasant too. The last time I had moist eyes, I rubbed it off with experiences from the past, the difficult past , the loss I lived in the journey of life. I lost me, to find you and in return neither did I find you nor did I discover myself. Sometimes tears are the milestones, they allow you to see through what once felt blurry and unclear. Sometimes they are the witness to the ache you have been carrying and feeling as your own weight. Sometimes they are the pearls that need to meet their oysters again to be lost in the deep wild ocean. 

To live a life is a luxury. To express a life is a fortune. To celebrate a life is a blessing. With moist eyes and bleak hope, pushing real hard to comprehend yet posing the strong belief in the unsaid, the unknown, the written, that is it.