This. This was the kind of weather you were waiting for. The light pitter-patter of the rain on the window. Soft. Reassuring; unlike so many other things in life. You have the window just a tad bit open, just enough for you to smell the petrichor emanating from the modest garden right outside your window, but not enough for any of the raindrops to pay a visit inside.
The record player in the corner of the room is playing lazy tunes. Soothing. While the flame from the candle sways and dances. Flowing freely and in sync with the nature of the tune. You close your eyes. Inhale. Geraniums. Roses. Flooding your nostrils.
Immediately, you smile. Behind your closed eyelids, you see that face that you adore so dearly. The smile that makes you swell with joy every time you see it. The softness of the hand. You remember when those hands brought you your first flowers. Introduced you to the beauty that each flower beheld. Geraniums. True friendship. For it is true, theirs is the truest friendship you can ever hope to have and one that you can count on for eternity.
The pattering still goes on. Somehow, in that cold weather, you feel so warm. Warm with all these thoughts and that face in your mind. Warm as though you could feel their hug. Their reassuring arms wrapped around you, while they calmly whisper in your ear. I’m here for you always. Always.
You wish for anything right then, with the smell of geraniums and roses filling the room, you wish for anything. For that face to be right by your side. Those hazel eyes staring right into yours. That smile, smiling right back at you.
Mother. You whisper. Mother. I wish you were here.
You smile, with the smell of geraniums and roses filling the room. You smile. As you feel a tear escape from behind closed eyelids. You smile. As the candle kept swaying and dancing to the lazy tune. As the petrichor slowly begins to fade away, overcome by the smell of geraniums. And roses. This was the kind of weather you were waiting for. This.
When I first met you,
you were
just another face,
another name.
Nothing more.
But 3 years later,
yours is the only
face I care
to look for,
the only name
that slips off my
tongue
and lips
with a smile. And
everything more.
27/7/2014
P.S:
Once again, for World Poetry Day.
Haven't written anything new for a very long time, this in fact is an old one taken from my notebook.
For all the poets and poetry lovers, this is for you guys.
I hope you've liked it so far.
Well, keep the love going, keep those words flowing!
-FNI
I hesitantly
opened the gates. Every step I took was heavy and I could feel the burden. When
was the last time I came here? About five years ago, I would think. The grass
was tall and the garden had not been looked after for quite some time now,
obviously. To my left, I saw what used to be the dahlia garden my wife, Dahlia,
looked after. Dahlias were her favorite. I could feel the tug on my heart
looking at what was left of it. I looked up at the bungalow. Green algae and moss had begun to grow on the walls. The
house had definitely seen better days. Vines had crept up along the walls of
the house. This was my home a long time ago. My home sweet home.
Then, suddenly, right before my eyes,
the flowers started to bloom, and the leaves suddenly turned greener.
Everything around me started to change. The grass somehow shrunk and became
shorter. The vines along the sides of the house crept back down and the green
algae and moss began to disappear. I was shocked. I thought my old eyes were
playing tricks on me. I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles and even wiped my
glasses with my shirt, but no, my eyes were not playing tricks on me. What I
saw was real. Maybe I took the wrong medicine when I woke up this morning.
Suddenly, I heard someone call my
name. “Rahman!” I searched and squinted my eyes to see who was calling my name.
“Man!” There it was again. Not many called me by that name. Only my family and
close friends dared to call me by that name. And that voice. That beautiful
voice. I recognized that voice. I have not heard that voice in a long time, of that I was sure. I still could not find who was calling me.
There, by the dahlia garden, someone was waving at me. I could not see who it
was. I squinted against the sunlight. When my eyes adjusted, I saw that it was a young woman. She was wearing a
scarf and a pair of sunglasses. She was also wearing a pair of gardening
gloves. My heart was instantly caught, and I froze, I recognised her in an instant.
My heart started beating faster. I
knew her. I more than knew her. I could not believe my eyes. I almost ran to
her, but my old, brittle legs would not let me. I walked as fast as I could
towards her. It was my Dahlia, but a younger version, maybe of when she was in her late 20s. My mind was already working like clockwork trying to figure out what was going on. She was beautiful,
just like the flower. Her namesake was of the dahlia flower. It was her
mother’s favorite flower and eventually, became her favorite too. When I got to her
though, suddenly she disappeared. I still could not figure it out.
Perplexed, I moved on and went up the
steps leading into the house. The minute I opened the doors, everything looked
just as it did the last time I was there five years ago. It was all starting to
confuse me. At that point, I got to the conclusion that I took the wrong
medication that morning and my mind was playing tricks on me. I kept walking down the hall and on the walls were
pictures of my family and I. I reached out and touched the pictures. Weird,
they were all real to the touch. I could actually feel the frame underneath my
fingers. I turned to the right towards the living room.
Like hallucinations, figures started
to form in the living room. I knew all those people. They were my children,
but they were little kids. They were playing around and laughing. There was a piano at the corner of the room, and Dahlia was
sitting at the piano bench. She looked radiant, although here, she looked
slightly older than before but not more than a few years. She looked up when I
entered the doorway and smiled at me. There were crinkles at her eyes when she
smiled. I forgot that small detail about her.
“Rahman,” she said, smiling, “Come
and sit, I’ll play you your favorite song.” She was always so soft spoken.
As though hypnotised, I went into the
room and sat on the couch. My eyes never left her face for even a second, I
could not bear to look away from her ever again. Satisfied at seeing me sit,
she began playing. Indeed, it was my favorite song. I used to ask her to play
it for me all the time, a long time ago. The kids stopped playing and crowded
near the piano. Even they used to love it when their mother started playing.
The way she played was definitely hypnotising. Then suddenly, it all faded and
I found myself standing in the middle of an empty room. The music was still in
my ears.
I went out of the room and walked towards the kitchen. Before I even
pushed the doors open, I could hear laughter. I heard her familiar laugh. I
reached towards the doors but I was afraid to open it. What if I see the same
thing I saw earlier. This was all beginning to be more than confusing. I am an
old man. Too much shock can bring no good to an old man’s heart. However, it
was not I who made the decision.
“Rahman! Dinner is ready, I cooked
your favorite. I know you are behind those doors. Come in, why don’t you?”
Dahlia’s comforting voice called out.
Listening to her voice was enough to
convince me to do anything. I pushed open the doors and saw them sitting by the
dinner table. Only my daughter and Dahlia were there. Dahlia here was older, in her mid-40s. She
smiled at the sight of me. Before I could even sit, everything disappeared just
like it did before. My frown was deepening. This was all starting to not make any sense. Was I dreaming? I went up the stairs towards the bedroom. I
had a bad feeling about this. Something was nagging at me to not open the doors to the bedroom. But the more it told me not to, the more I
wanted to. Slowly, I opened the door. The door creaked of old age, just as my
bones sometimes did.
I was right, what I saw was something
I did not prepare for. Right there, on the bed, was Dahlia. She looked really
old now, and I remember exactly when this was. She smiled at me when I came in.
She looked very tired but there was still life in her eyes. She raised her arm
in an attempt to reach for me. But her old arms would not let her go far. Not
even halfway through, she let her arm fall. The weight was too much for her to
support all by herself.
“Rahman,” she said, patting the spot
beside her. Like an obedient dog called by his master, I went to her side and
sat on the chair beside her bed. Her hand was held open for me to hold. I
hesitated, I was not sure if it would disappear just like all the other memories
before. Dahlia just looked at me expectantly. Slowly, I first touched her hand
testily, it was real. I could feel her soft, crinkly skin. I held in my hand,
firmly, not sure whether I wanted to let it go now.
She smiled at me. “Rahman, remember
when we were young and we used to love releasing balloons with messages written
on it into the sky?”
I just nodded. I did not know what to
say. If it was possible, whatever this was that I was going through, I wanted
it to stop at that instant. I knew what was going to happen and I did not want
to go through it again. Going through it the first time was heartbreaking
enough. I do not think that I could handle it for the second time.
“I know you are afraid. I am, too.
But we knew that this would happen sooner or later. And not long after that,
you will be with me as well. It is not as if we are going to be apart
for long. Give it a couple of years.” She smiled and there were
tears starting to pool in her eyes.
“Dahlia,” was all I managed to croak.
My throat suddenly felt dry and tears of my own were rolling down my cheeks. I
knew very well what was going to happen. This particular moment had play backed in my head numerous times.
“Rahman, if you miss me or when you
are starting to forget all those memories of us together, get a balloon and
write whatever message you want to tell me on it. Then, release it up into the
sky. If God wills it, I will get that message from you. That is how you can
remember me, my dear Rahman.”
That was the last that she ever
spoke. She closed her eyes, tired from all the talking. It took so much of her
energy to say even the littlest things. And then, it all disappeared right
before my eyes. I was in an empty room again, sitting on the floor. It was all
still so real and vivid. The memories seemed so real when I entered this house.
Finally, it made sense. I had never returned to this house after Dahlia’s death all those years
ago. It pained me to enter the house and to see everything that I built and had
throughout my life with her. Just because of her death in this very house, I
forgot to remember all the other wonderful memories I had with her. In fact, it
was all those memories that came first, before it led to her death. Something has been
urging me to come here and after five years I finally had the courage to do so.
I was blinded by my stubbornness to accept her death that I threw out all my
memories of her out the window. I sat there in the middle of
the room and recited a prayer for her as I always did. I got up as my back was starting to ache badly
from sitting down on the floor for too long.
I smiled as I exited the
house as everywhere I looked, memories kept flooding through my mind. I stood
in front of the house for the last time. Images and memories were playing
vividly as though being played through a video camera. For the final time, I
turned my back on the house and out the gates towards the car where my daughter was waiting for me. However, I did not leave alone, as with me, I took all my
memories that I had in the house that I failed to remember because of my
denial. Dahlia will forever remain with me, in my mind, and in my heart.
give me your location
north east west
i’ll run to you
a thousand miles
acres of barren land
i'll run to you
