While I stir my tea with that li’l silver spoon, I miss you no more. The only thing it reminds me now is of the man with stained teeth, who how easily convinced us to buy it from him. I also vaguely remember the corner table where we crooned over the spoon forgetting entirely about our mud-cake in that nameless bakery point. He claimed it to be an antique piece capable of bringing good luck to us whenever we stir our tea with it. Lucky charm! Is not that we called it? And in between the layers of all these vagaries, I realized again that I truly miss you no more. Still few left-over memories, just like the design intricately carved on the spoon, are etched forever on the handle of my heart. But what about the love that vaporized leaving nothing but drops of lemon in the tea cup?
No, the past does not haunt me any longer. It’s just that I have lost the art of trusting. Or the way I see it now, it is the unceremonious inability to trust my own heart anymore that still evokes zillions of feelings and emotions. At one moment happiness brims me up. And the next it’s the incorrigible tears that fight to escape their negligible existences.
You came in my life just like a scented waif of air. Amidst the cacophony of modern madness that whistles in and around the concrete jungle of Delhi-NCR, your eyes caught the doleful me who tried her best to put up a happy face. And every time you wipe those invisible tears that fall from my eyes…. I feel my heart reaching one step nearer to you. It becomes a huge task to have a control over the heart-beats that go mad and thrive to tear the heart apart.
But I am afraid of the love that my soul encounters in your deep eyes. Unlike mine, your eyes are of darker brown color… a shade towards black almost. I see the element of love swimming there …gleefully giving birth to hope, aspirations and uncountable starry dreams. I am afraid of them for I don’t trust my own emotions anymore… for I am afraid to have that power in my hands to hurt you in any possible way.
When your hands subtly touch me… I experience ripples of emotions in me. As if the li’l silver spoon has stir me from within. And then…my heart speaks in the language of poetry…verse after verse I fall in love with you. But suddenly in the mid of this entire cosmos I feel myself drowning. The ripples contract and suck me in. And at that very moment of oscillating stubborn memories, word by word the poetry fades, the love ebbs and all there is left to experience is a dappled blank paper. I am afraid to be that blank paper in your life devoid of feelings, emotions, and colors for you. The silver spoon fails to stir me anymore.
When at night, you shield me in your arms… leaving just the enough space to breath heavily. I hallucinate under the spell of your magical voice. I see a field of blooming sunflowers… swaying with the wind and laughing with the sun. For some miniscule moments… I just want to break all the self-made shackles that adorn me and run towards the Unknown with you. But I am afraid… for I know the sunflowers will wither and I won’t have anything left in me to love you with. Just like disposable tea-cups I am afraid to abandon you there. Silly tea-spoons are not meant for stirring love.
It’s not that I don’t understand your love for me. It’s just that the magic of the Tea-cups and the Tea-spoons don’t work on me anymore. I guess I have grown up and these things are best left to the small girls to play with.
Unlike him, on this birthday of mine you should gift me a Dream-catcher instead.