It’s pouring with intensity, on the open road, where commonly people interact to decorate their life’s narration with the touch of various literary devices. I’m a young female writer, sitting in the library trying to alter the most prevailed word, called virgin. As a human being, where two fixed identities work, everywhere, in home, institutions, work, social activities or places, instead of Mother’s womb and Grave. Identity of one being a virgin, and other being a writer, so today, I’m writing on the opposite identity, according to society. Recently, I found some words on a random paper, which was;
‘’My heart shows disturbance…while writing sequence in the story’’.
It was getting cold as it was the winter’s first rain, so I went to the Café, ordered a cappuccino, and my ears heard a tune, holds a melody of a very fresh beginning, which was;
‘’ Our picture in my wallet-
every time I saw it
my eyes stop at Her side,
She in white dress and gown
chose the light to imagine Her like the sky-
here, every time I can reveal myself
Like Her Moon.
It creates my imagination every time, to fall like a drop’’.
And I like philosophy want to explore the nature of their meaning, and its role in their existence, like purpose, value and truth. I asked that boy, about the purpose in one word and he just said marriage, which is beautiful. Now here came the beautiful part, do you know the meaning of marriage, a pure relationship. I just tricked them just to confirm that what I realized about his way of seeing around and that girl, and also her selection of words when he was confessing. The boy’s eyes got narrowed and asked me what do you mean, mam. He continued by saying, we’re already engaged, and our proposal was family based. Our families introduced us to each other, and they know every detail about her family background and even mine family background. Then I asked, do you both know each other, understanding family background is something else. Now tell me, as a man what do you think your partner or wife?
He relied, she should be virgin, educated, and beautiful.
Wow! That’s interesting and precise.
Now, I asked the girl, the same question about what do you think about your partner or husband? She replied poetically, with whom I can create my first memory.
‘’Let’s create our first memory
I’ll flip my hair-you stare.
Your continuous eyes on me
Cherry on my cheeks will-
create blossom on this shore.
The flower in your hand
Will be a personification of spring-
In my hair.
The shyness from your love
Will fall like dew, after the rain.’’
Whom I can write The First Letter, the longest call we will have, and so much other elements. To me it felt innocence but with the touch of reality. In the same moment she added, ‘’a character that Homer once built after Troy, called as Odysseus’’. I was not amazed, as in the race of modes of production definitely involves bourgeoisie and proletariat. And even history always narrate the power holder. She still hadn’t realized what I had, and I left that story, that starts from a spring memory.
Now, the summer is narrating something which is inside us, like unconscious’s unstructured pattern. But it was fun. I reached at a wedding venue, as one of my fellows had invited me on her wedding. A garden full of welcome, not beauty, as the beauty will walk in later- in white gown. We all were enjoying, and after some moments, the groom holds the mike and asks for the attention, and as the bride was on the entrance, he read a piece of poem, which was;
‘’You’re a pause among my every breathe
which stands like a monologue
among every breathe.
Before, a fog was inside
So, I found subjects outside-
With eyes, among nature.
But the day, you became my partner
Fog disappeared, and a self-appeared-
Whose only subject is You.
Before, I talk to the moon,
Now, I understand its silence.
Before, I had colors and beauty
Now you are the only proof of it.
Before, I can recognize every melody and tune
Now you’re the relation in every string of it.’’
I respected the event, but I left holding a white petal in hand. I was staring the petal with sympathy, but later I realized it’s not the petal’s fault, it’s the way it’s used.
It was windy outside, and the leaves decorated the roads, to make the road beautiful- O! this unity, I wonder! Only in You. The time where Art removes it’s veil. A man holding guitar and painful streak of lifeless voice, echoing words like;
‘’The Art, when he lost his ways in her eyes…
The kind of Art, when she listens every word with his voice…
The Art, of creating You as artistic side of my imagination…
The kind of Art, when he only found her as his only sight…
The Art, when she found him in her visionary eyes…
The kind of Art, appeared when both Ends themselves in each other’s arms, tight…
The Art, when she calls him as the sky, where she will fly…
The Art, of giving her the place with an unknown context…
The kind of Art, creates a rainbow in Monsoon, in dried fallen leaves, in the silence of inside stream, and in the appearance of new mean.’’
This makes winter to collapse in the Earth’s arm. To create my world view, like a state, through narrative. I narrate the world, dressing myself into beautiful red, and he came like beautiful snow which covers my deep rooted algorithm into a character. But in a speck of time, the pouring outside shattered my dream. Even dream was even uncomplete.
I chose black, a combination of every color.
By: YAM ( YOU & ME )
YAM 