It ends with us
He was like the crack of dawn, Beautiful to see and very serenely drawn, His starry eyes hid pain that the world could not fathom Forever he yearned for his freedom
It ends with us
He was like the crack of dawn,
Beautiful to see and very serenely drawn,
His starry eyes hid pain that the world could not fathom
Forever he yearned for his freedom.
Avy and I were best friends. We were like the moon and the stars. Always together but never one.
He was the moon, serene and desired by many. I was a star that no one ever wanted.
We became friends in the first grade.
He used to eat my tiffin, and I quenched my hunger with his smile.
Ooh, his smile! I still remember our first bunk together, where we went to the seashore. I climbed a rock in a wish to fall in his embrace. He held my hand and held me tightly. My soul knew it belonged to him.
Days passed, and I grew fonder of him. It was the farewell day when he played ‘ Tum Hi Ho on his guitar. I sat beside him. While all others synchronized to the song, I united to the beat of his heart, the joy in his eyes while he played it. His passions were now mine.
After our exams, I went to his house and heard a CD playing. It was his mother’s favorite song.
I saw sorrow in his eyes as the world stopped at that moment.
His mother died that day, and so did his existence.
Today I stand here alone, at the same spot, drenched in rain
The shoes that I am wearing remind me of you! your first gift for me
You always said We are friends always and forever”, right Avy.
Yes, we are!
Today as I start my new life, I want to say is
Only if you could let me tell you how much I love you
I could have made you realize
The pain you carry would have ended
But today, as I kindle these shoes to release our pain
I stand here and say this pain, this suffering
It ends with us!
_Hridya Swarup Sharma
@theserenestories
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Happiness is overrated- A reality check you might need to hear today
Happiness is overrated. As we stir upon the journey of life, the moments we experience exasperate to become the existence we dwell in. The story we tell our minds about the idealistic quality of our lives, whether we have achieved it or not, is the narrative that we hold for ourselves. Perception creates reality; quite arguably, the judgement of the worth we hold for ourselves is the reality we manifest. The worth that forges its being from the outside often stalls and cripples us into the notion of self-doubt. We are so rooted in being validated by the world that our happiness fosters a tendency to become like a ball bouncing from one side to another. When it hits the appreciation of others, our joy soars high, and when it is pushed away with criticism, it is nothing but a lie.
By Hridya Sharma6 months ago in Poets
Comments (2)
This was heartbreaking but so well written!
Fantastic poem!