Sunday, September 7, 2014


So there they lie, watching the stars.
It's a pleasant day today. There's no cruel cold breeze, no gusts of hot wind.
She likes it.
This evening is peaceful.
She looks over at him. He's a bit lost in a reverie. She touches his shoulder. He smiles.
It's not a happy smile.
He continues watching the stars, yet not watching them.
Where is he, she wonders.
She knows he's somewhere far away, in the glorious land of forgotten dreams and shadows.
She puts her head on his shoulder.
He pats her hair in an absent minded manner.
He seems sad.
But he won't admit it.
She doesn't like it.
She wishes to bring a smile to his face.
His eyes are full of a strange anguish which she cannot fathom. But he won't ever talk about it. He lets it remain in his eyes. She wishes that she could take his years of pain away.
The stars are shining for him, she tells him playfully.
He laughs. But the smile doesn't reach his eyes.
Come back, she tells him.
He replies he isn't far away.
But she knows he is.
She wants to bring him back.
Music plays from somewhere in the background. He looks startled. It's low. But loud enough for him.
He doesn't like this song.
She understands why.
But she can't stop the song from playing. Only he can choose to ignore it.
She doesn't know where it's playing from.
He says nothing but he seems to be getting tortured by the second.
He closes his eyes. She wishes he would shed tears and be free.
But he doesn't.
This song, he says. He turns.
The music is filling his head like poison, he says.
She tells him to ignore it. The more he pays attention to this music, the more it will haunt.
He whispers he can't.
She begins to sing. She touches his hair and smoothes back years of roughness.
Her voice isn't loud, but it drowns the music.
His head has a different song now.
She continues singing. It's soft and gentle. The music ebbs away.
He is relaxed. He doesn't hear the music anymore.
She's here now.
The moment has passed.
He smiles at her. He brushes her cheek with his hand briefly.
She asks whether he feels better.
He pulls her close to him.
He doesn't want her to stop singing.
This music, he likes.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Voices and revelries

"I don't feel good today." She said with a sigh.
They sat opposite each other. He sat on the armchair, she sat on the couch, her hands folded.
He didn't ask why. He knew she wouldn't want to answer.
He didn't like it when she looked upset.
So he started talking about his day. He knew what would cheer her up.
The black clouds left the room.
His voice soothed her. He spoke reassuringly, and in a low tone. The words were not hurried at all.
He had the most pleasant voice she had ever heard. When he spoke, words seemed to flow musically. It was not loud. It was not quiet.
She unfolded her hands, and kept them relaxed by her side. She didn't respond except with a smile, because she didn't want him to stop talking.
It was astounding how one person could make anything sound beautiful. It was something she could sleep on.
He had a caress in his voice. There was no better caress.
It was steady.
He said her name like no one else ever had.
Like it was made for him to say.
She sipped her tea slowly.
She wondered, how could a voice just make her feel so many things, all at once?
His voice resonated in her head, even when there was silence. There were times when she she felt shy, and didn't dare to look up. She fiddled with her fingers.
She played with the elaborate cushion coverings.
 He couldn't help smiling at her childish antics. He noticed her plucking nervously at the cushions.
He talked. He talked about his life, his plans, his views on the world. Even the way he spoke about the over-sweet tea made her nerves peaceful.
She settled back in the chair, and curled her foot under her leg. She held the cushion close to her.
A breeze blew wildly outside, and some strands of hair flew to her face. The room felt cool. The trees swayed outside. The skies were streaked with orange. It was a wild evening, with a strange calm.
She had a blissful smile on her face now. Her brow was no longer furrowed with worry.
He looked at her. He stopped talking. She was a little disconcerted.
She asked him "What happened?"
"I thought you were going to sleep."
"Doesn't matter." she said her hand under her cheek.
He was about to play music, but she refused. It was not music she needed.
So he continued. He gently put the blanket over her. His fingers gently brushed hers.
He was sure she was asleep now.
"Sleep well." he whispered gently.
She heard it.
Her dreams would be better today.