Searching- A saga ✔

71- River

I am not a pond nor a lake,
Stagnant.

I am a river, ever-changing.
Fickle.
Dynamic.
Transitional.

River.

I can never be steady.
It's not in my character.

The dreamer, ever lost.
The dreamer who paints.
The dreamer who writes.
The dreamer who dreams.

Sometimes, life scares me.
Other times, it scars me.

Every moment in my life
Is a culmination of long,
Everlasting, Forgotten,
Promises.

Life is calling me.
But I don't want to go.

It's much better here.
Flowing like a river.
Anchored and embraced,
Cocooned in your arms.

I don't belong here,
In this new course of my destiny.

Was this new change,
A subtle way for you to
Remind me,
Where I truly belong?

Then maybe you have succeeded.
And in other ways, failed.

Because, these new,
So-called 'developments'
Are not humoring me, Kanha.
They are like red hot iron,
On naked skin.

Kanha!

I don't understand your plans,
I am not supposed to.

But, I am confused.

On one side, Kali awaits.
On another, Maya.
On yet another, life.
On another, my destiny.
On another, the world.
And on the last, You.
Your love.

Kanha, stop testing me.
Sometimes, you have to realize,
How painful it could it get,
And one breaks apart.

Day after day, I feel myself,
Breaking, bit by bit,
Day after day, I feel myself,
Healing, into something new.

Something far more different.
More dreamy-eyed.
More into love.
More withdrawn from life.
More lost.
More found.
More dangerous.
More beautiful.

And I am confused.

There are days I hear your flute.
And those, I feel your profound absence.
There are days, when your love floods.
And others when, I only feel emptiness.
And scared what that emptiness can lead to:
Hate, jealousy, greed and desire.

You are always silent, Kanha.
Never an acknowledgement.
But always talking, teasing,
Playing and pulling my leg.

Maybe, I am becoming mad.

Maybe, this poem,
Turned into my diary.

Maybe, I am just running away,
From this life.
From this destiny.
From the world.

Thinking it'll lead me to you.

Maybe, I really should run away,
From this life and world.
And go into the woods.
And climb mountains.

But I can't. Kanha.
I can't have a break.
And that very realisation,
Kills me everyday.

Tell me, Kanha,
Why can't I just be a normal teenager?

Sometimes, like tonight,
This journey seems to choke me.

Tears run down my face,
Onto the drenched pillow,
I don't want this, Kanha.
Why don't you for once,
Actually answer my questions?

Kanha, I am tired of your quietude,
And your evasiveness.

What is reality, Milord?
Is it you?
Or is it this world?

Then why am I still
Behind this world,
Like it matters?

I want you, Kanha.
I need you, Kanha.

I don't want this world.
But I am bound to it.
By my family and destiny.
By you.

You are my reality.
You are The Reality.
You are the world's reality.

But, the real world
And the reel world,
Are fighting for space.
They blind me.

I don't want to go with them.

Because I belong to you.
And only you.

You are The Lord Of the Universe.
And yet you are as simple as my lover.

Who are you?
What are you?

And that leads me to asking
Who am I?
What am I?

Maybe I am just becoming mad.
Mad in love.
Mad with confusion.
Madly lost in illusion.
Mad in insecurity.

Sometimes, Kanha.
I just want to embrace you,
And never let go.

Because it takes me away,
From Reelity, into Reality.
Into Love.
Into You.
Into myself.

Maybe, you should come here
To me, Kanha.
Forsaking all Your Immortal duties.
Just for a little chat.
Over tea, or butter in your case.

Go save the world later,
It is not a very good place, anyway.

Or maybe that is just,
My perspective.

Or maybe just my thoughts,
Are a little too muddled, tonight

But, one thing, thanks to you,
I realised, This isn't my life.

You are my life.
My very heartbeat.
My very DNA.
My every biomolecule.
My every thought.
My every atom.

Read this poem, once again,
And my dear, Kanha,
You will realise, why exactly,
I am river.

How I can never restrict,
The flow of my thoughts.
The course of my musings,

They keeping jumping
One over another,
Like a honeybee,
That flies from one flower
To another.
So easily.
So quickly.
So unthinkingly.

I am river.
I change course.
I am all changing.
Transient.
Dynamic.

But always flowing.
Towards my destination.
Towards my ocean.
Towards You.

My course might change, howsoever.
Entire tributaries may dry up.
New ones may join in,

But at one point my river,
Will drain into it's ocean.
So, someday or the other,
I will reach You, Milord.

However long it might take,
I will wait.
For out union.
How much ever, the pain
Of Separation might kill me.

I will be waiting.
And flowing meanwhile.