What She Tells Me

Talking does not do away with the enigma, rather it deepens it further.

She does not like to confer too much. She loves to hear others talk to her.She wants them to speak about the earth that is a mystery to her.

She wants to explore. She spends her time dreaming of skies up high and worlds far away.

She prefers books over movies. She reasons that they let her create.

She loves to sing, dance,  move around. She likes birds for the same reason. She wants wings. Wings that can help her soar over the tallest mountains and away from these boundaries. She wants roots. Roots that will bind her with her beloved, the people she truly admires.

She wants to see the back-lit lanes. She wishes to touch the drifting bits of endless dust that reflect the visual energy. She wants all the flickering lights, tiny specks of fluttering rays. She wants the city glitters that shimmer from a distance. She wants to light a candle on the way of every glinting and bleeping solemn road. She wants to print glowing circuses that linger while she sleeps.

She wants an orchestra of sweeping sounds. She wants tunes that sway like star crossed lovers.

She feels the silken leaves as they murmur and reach out to her. She holds them close to her heart. She does not want to lose them.

She fears faltering. She fears fear itself.

She is seldom seen around. Her appearances are a celebration and existence an inspiration.

She tells me she wants to be a rain drop. She does not mind falling as long as she is not alone.

And rain drops are never alone.