You. Because

You're real

You have a strange look in your eyes 

That's aloof, empty, emotionless, yet intense

The kind that just makes one want to be

Without the need to feel

To walk on the ground 

But really float above

To share comfortable silences 

Because words don't always have to be spoken 

To be meant

You

Because you are you

Answers

"How is that even possible?" First I stopped in my way and gasped in awe at the East Khasi Hills. The Universe has its own way of reminding you just how small a dot in the big picture you are. You stand at the foothills, crane your neck, timid in stature but bold in spirit and start walking. How is it even possible for so much beauty and magnitude to exist on Earth? If you think about it, it's just green colour... For miles. But when Nature adorns the colour, it's immediate magic. 

I made it to the Living Root Bridge with a clean mental slate. I didn't know what to expect. I was looking to be surprised, or shocked, so went to the uncharted territory, absolutely unprepared. We passed houses, people, villages, all strangers for each other but bound by the mountains, even if for the time being. The language of insects. A locked chapel. A cemetery—all white and somberly quiet yet peaceful. Cemeteries have that about them, don't they?

The old man had an expressionless face. No curiosity. He has seen tourists for years. Another humbling thought. You visit a place and are overwhelmed enough to build memories for the rest of your life. But does the destination or even its paraphernalia even spare a second thought for you? You know the answer, don't you?

Every bend had an ancient rock sitting deep in meditation for centuries. Expressionless like the old man. Calm quietude like the gravestones. You feel if you stood there long enough staring at the wise rock, asking questions, it would find a way to give you the answer—unsaid but to be felt. But are you ready to hear it? You know the answer, don't you?

Quagmire

Conflicts. Constant ones. Between what is and what should be. I like neither. Someone gets hurt in both cases. Both get hurt in both cases. It's a quagmire. I'll need to be very still. But how long can one last? Especially when I know no one will come to my rescue and I can't save myself either.

How did I even get here? Got to pay for ignoring the warning signs.

The Other Day

Can we have a few more 
Of the other day?

Lovers for a few hours
Lost in each other

When you were not sure
If you should go or stay

You heard, 'Go',
But you stayed

How did you hear
What was unsaid?

Looking beyond what was
While I was trapped inside me

We seized oneness
Then ceased to be

Now years later
Here we are again

Nothing is new
Then I have to
See if you are still you

History. Mirror

Why does history have to be such an unrelenting sod? It always comes back - in the form of events or people. Usually both. Things that happen, words that are uttered. It's like weed. Ugly and unwanted. Or a creeper that keeps growing. I thought I had uprooted it for good but then I see it raising its ugly head yet again. What's worse, I shouldn't have let it reappear. But I did. I should have got rid of it at the very first hint. But I didn't. What stopped me? Nothing. That's the worst part.

The creeper still grows. It has reached my ankles already. Soon it will creep its way up. First it will weaken my knees till I can't stand straight. Then it will make me sick to my stomach. My heart will be eaten, right up to my throat. Knowing me, I will let it grow till I am consumed by it completely, till I gag and cannot breathe and don't hear or see anything. I might make a few lame attempts to cut it off. But maybe I won't be sincere. I'll feel bad for the weed that needs to feed. Like I have been fed off before. Several times. I need to break this pattern. I don't want any reflections from the past. I don't want to be the mirror. Again.