They say it is destiny,
What happens under Your scrutiny.
They say it is meant to be,
You puppet the strings of me.
They say it is an order
Of universe, divine numbers
And laws in patterns sublime;
But isn't the universe itself an absolute?
A lawless, timeless, endless attribute?
Isn't the earth in unorganised havoc?
Isn't it chaos that runs the cosmos?
© Suranya
"This tastes funny." He made a face at the now cold cup of tea. "Yes." She agreed with a slight giggle. "You added salt instead of sugar." "Why did you drink it then?" He asked, surprised, staring at her empty cup. She smiled. "Because it's the first cup of tea you made for me. It's the sweetest cuppa I've ever had." "Ew. Mushy." He shook his head with a silly smile that made her laugh her heart out. He fell a bit more in love that day.
© Suranya
Sometimes the smallest actions speak more than big gestures. Like you are walking down a road and you see their favourite flower, you send them a picture as a reminder that you remember their favourite flower. Or when you walk into a departmental store and see something in their favourite colour and decide to surprise them by wearing it the next time they see you. You care enough to share a picture of yourself every day, even at your worst, because they can't see you soon. Or write them a letter to keep and read whenever they miss you. You often try to read their favourite books or hear their favourite kind of music to understand a person better. Try their favourite drinks or meal to see if you can share one on the next date. Or simply ask, How was your day? And hear them rant. No judgment, no advice. No amount of gifts, big surprise gestures or anything else can replace genuine efforts.
© Suranya
I often wonder how queens waited
After every battle, I was
Unsure of the king's return.
Or the captive princess
For the wanderer to free her
From the shackles of society.
Or the silent bare tree waits
For winter to be over
To fill its branches in bloom;
Or how the birds wait
For migratory season
To find another home.
I promised myself over and over.
I wasn't like them at all.
Yet I found myself
Waiting for you
At every chance I got.
© Suranya
Her hair tangled like her heart
She walked through the aisle
Looking for customers, in need.
Her dress as dark as her skin,
Desire-filled eyes eat into her body
His hands on her naked skin,
Her soul untouched, face painted,
Character questioned,
He'd leave before dawn
In fear of being seen with her,
As she displayed in a tease;
Their hunger was her morsel
With yet another man, she leaves.
Then one night she chanced upon him.
He was looking for a story he had never heard,
She had aplenty, some cruel some funny;
They talked through the darkness into dawn
And they both knew it was just a start.
Days passed by, people teased,
She who was forbidden to love a man,
Had shown one her empty soul.
He was slowly filling it with wisdom;
Each night, he smiled and left a note.
The writer in him turned Poet for her,
He had found his rhythm and rhyme,
In her words, emotions and life.
Decorating pain in colourful metaphors
She was indeed poetry in motion.
© Suranya
Tired from a never-ending journey
The wanderer looked to rest.
Bruised and weary, he'd stop.
And ask the Universe for directions.
Time and again, the sun smiled,
The stars ignited a hope in him,
The moon showed a path to go on,
The nature echoed in a chorus theme,
"Tomorrow you will be Home!"
Tomorrow turned into yesterday,
Years, decades and eras passed,
Yet like the wind aimless and worn,
He roamed the paths, lovelorn.
Never giving up on his faith,
Hurt and healed by people he had met,
Faith finally led him to a door
And just like that, he was home.
© Suranya
