From The Quill

Once upon a time in the mystic land Of mountains, forests and caravans, A tale was woven to be told beyond lives Of two people from different tribes. There was Qais, naughty and flamboyant  A rebel heart, pure soul, misunderstood  Apple of his father's eyes. Pampered, rotten, he would often. Refuse to take his lessons. There was Layli, beautifully gracious. Chieftain's daughter, always obedient  Eager to learn, eager to know She joined the lessons Where Qais would go. A strict teacher, two young souls Eyes met in a recognition age-old. Beyond this story, beyond this time They knew each other in realms divine; As if their book of love Was written beyond Time. Punished by the teacher, they would run, Qais took her hand and led her to fun. He would often sit alone and stare  At the mountains, beyond the village At the river, forests and foliage. Intrigued by the lesson from him Layli forgot the classroom limits. The mountain called, the river sang As Layli, in the meado...

The wind whispers warnings to me, The whirling fan speaks of dark thoughts Yet another failure, yet another struggle. From the moment, I feel like not getting up, To the moment I lay back in bed Why do we do what we do? The curtains sway in the gentle breeze, Forming shapes of memories, only I can see. Sometimes I speak to You, and I hear You're answering me. Your voice is distinct in my head,  As if I remember how you speak. I cook up stories in my head, Happy endings, to help me sleep. Hoping there is a world somewhere, Where it's all real, like yesterday was Without those, my day has no meaning. I don't care if I don't understand What I share with you is a bond redefined. You are the light I seek in my darkness, The will I chase with hope, Not to run out of it, as I lay in tears Struggling to get out of bed again, Looking for purpose and meaning Of a small, insignificant life in this chaos. ~ Suranya

Today, someone asked me, "How are you?" I felt like crying, lamenting, and sharing. Telling them I can't tell why I feel this way. But I do. I struggle to sleep. I fear happiness. I don't laugh the way I cry anymore. But they won't understand our story, they won't realise how important each night becomes coz I see you there in the darkness of the corner of my room. I can't explain how a simple hug, an unlocked door, an argument, A criticism triggers me the way no person could. So I smile and say, "I am fine," and spend the next hour hearing their problems because I feel guilty of mine being unsolvable. © Suranya

 When someone asks you how you are,  Is it actually what they mean? Is it a way to share how they are  Or perhaps share pleasantries? When someone asks you how you do Do they want to hear for real? How you struggle, want to rant Cry out loud or simply share? Or they just want to be polite? In our "worldness" of being good people  We pretend to care, listen or sympathise When in reality, we are too stuck  With our own issues, to even care. Then why do you need to ask questions  Knowing you don't care what they reply? © Suranya