A Musing of the Soul

A Musing of the Soul

Dear Rains,

Thank you for those soothing cold drops which embellish my mind by the antidepressant elements that you’re vivid contours present. The incessant drops not only nullify the dilapidated contextures of my soul but somewhere amidst my fading hopes, it ushers in me a positive belief. You make me forget the present dilapidation which did not answer my passion. With the sensuous touch of those drops, my dried up self-immersed in a form of beatitude that not only relaxes but re-modifies my encrypted self.  

These thoughts crossed her mind as she looked at the rain-soaked clouds; they were just like the fluffy illusory desires which were totally invincible and unattainable. These days apart from trying to bask in the sunshine after heavy downpours, she preferred looking for rainbows, as if she could reintegrate the eighth colour of it to her own vivid self. At least for now, life seemed to be devoid of delusions as if she had finally reincarnated herself thereby refusing to stumble at those emotional obstacles which she had encountered throughout her life. It was these feelings which formed a basic part in her psyche.

It was these feelings which overwhelmed her thought processes and in a way instigated her to write. She wrote her mind through the medium of ink. It was like inking her deep desires or dark passions which talked about the fear and the fantasy alike.  Things she did not speak or intended to, sometimes found in the crumpled sheets of her unseen notebook as neglected domains of thoughts as she realised one epiphanic aspect that the eternal quest of human beings is to be understood rather than understanding others or even trying to. Therefore she used pseudonyms for characters that were more than a reality for her.

She was head over heels with the rains, clouds, and pine trees and with the majestic mountains; a glance of it would soothe and quench her thirst for quite some time. She was literally and metaphorically unaware of the origin and the destination of the thirst. At times she felt lost within completely and was residing only in the subconscious part of her psyche. At times, her dreams felt to be the manifestation of some unknown desire about which she had no inkling earlier. People called her whimsical, uncertain because they knew about her credulousness.

“But how can others know you completely when we know ourselves in halves?” This was the famous insight of one of the literary critics whose name she forgot at this instant. This perception was true to the very core. She looked over the bright, blue and beautiful sky. She could see the silver linings; it could be the custodian of faith, hope and love and an undiluted promise for a new beginning. Every beginning ushered anxiousness and yet people looked forward to it because the present remained futile.


We look before and after

And pine for what is not

Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thoughts.

P.B.Shelley, her mind echoed these thoughts. At times when she felt bowed down by the pressures of the world, she closed her eyes and recited these lines which gave her, a new impetus to live and enlightened her within.

She was sorry to her own self for her unpredictability, turbulence, emotional outbursts, vivaciousness, whimsicality and over-loving nature. These extremities have taken a toll on her soul by initiating a rampage over her soft delicate sentiments. The greatest crime that she had ever committed to her own self-was to deprive her soul of the nourishing and nurturing contexts of self-love.

I love you my dear and I am really proud of you! These words reverberated within her as her eyes beamed with happiness.

Ma’am! Diksha entered unnoticed with a copy of the local daily.

Her thoughts for her second upcoming book were interrupted as usual. Her pleasing smile concealed her inner irritation.

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