Nothing matters now, here, when my arms are full of you. Even though everything is a little less than vivid, this moment defines my reality. All that I wanted, all that I have dreamt and yearned for, all that for which I have eaten my heart out is right here. To be honest, I am really ignorant of my yens, but I see them lurking around deep inside me like impressions of a known, but long abandoned and distant life. They are tainted with pain and painted with somber hues – my wants disguised. Why would I desire you when your soul is marching with grace through me and your body pouring magma of love in my every pore? There is no place I would rather be. You see, it is different because there isn’t any confusion. Out of nowhere, here you are filling the cradle of my being. I don’t know how we happen to come here, but, as I said, I don’t care, it is enough.
This smell that shields you is so unmistakable. If I lost you a thousand times among crowds of strange faces, among woods impenetrable to light, among an unending range of mountains, still your aroma would escort me to you before I am lost forever. It is an unending cycle. When I am with you it drives me away to the unknown, and when I am not around you, it gushes my head with your memories. It leads me astray, but it is my Savior. Cold and vacant mansions, empty streets, plangent notes played on a piano, sight of a leaving train, setting sun and laded camels of nomads are the doors that open to you and the void inside me.
You don’t talk much because you know how to make the most out of fleeting moments. I must talk. I have the faint urgency to tell you things as if in no time my world will come tumbling down to some kind of familiar dread. Shall I whisper about what haunts me or what has been, supposedly, I feel, crushing me with its weight for eons, I can’t decide! Something tells me that this life- shall I call it life since there are no traces of the past and no prospects of the future- or are these moments quintessence of mortality, a stretch of union with loneliness on either side; an island that will soon be lost in the waters of loneliness. This is what I feel when the warmth of your breath exalts my skin.
Implosions and explosions are what I am subjected to because of you; my heart implodes when you are near me, but it explodes when you are away.
But I must not waste time. I don’t know why, but I have always wanted to answer some of your questions that you never asked, at least not verbally. How could I not hold on to my words in a life that has to end? Let love play its hide and seek. Let love decide when its leading, but when it disappears for a while let your promises and words guard what was once decided by love. Don’t allow anything else to drive you when love is dormant. My convictions tell me that for an immortal, forgetting is tragedy, but for a mortal it is death. All his life he moans at the oblivion out of which he has come and to the womb of which he will go again. His existence churns at the thought of the ultimate reason to live, and his soul is kneaded by callous hands of dejection. For he finds no cause worthy of so big and contradictory a design. We live in so big a universe, and yet there is a universe that lives in us. One thing in common between these two universes is that in neither of them are we the reason for creation.
In the midst of so much chaos he finds love. He makes love his shield to protect himself from the arrows of uncertainty, ruse and nothingness. Love shelters him from a storm so violent and ruthless. Fool, fool, he is a fool and he knows that he is a fool! Ironic, isn’t it? No it is not, for there is no other way. Disregard this shelter and he is back in the bosom of mayhem.
The mere lack of articulation tells me that whatever I just told you is not what I know from my present world. I have no words to trap the idea, but all I can say is that it is like being imported from another alternate reality.
Can you smell the whiffs of terror in the air? No? I can. Bit by bit things are transcending upon me. Have we been like this before? Why don’t you tell me? I feel like I have lived through this a thousand times. Yes, just like this! You and I clasped in each other’s arms, I talking and you being silent. Then comes a locked door and impatiently knocking, it’s me who is knocking. Oh, listen to me, I know it all.
Oh please don’t leave me. You see, it is happening again. Please open the door. You know how much I love you. My heart has started to explode! I beg you! Don’t tell me yet again that this door has no knob from the inside. Let me in, things around me are getting flimsy, I am falling away. Let me in! Everything here is falling apart. I am being dragged to some other world. Please open it…….
The gravity of longing woke him up. He had dreamt of her. He bawled and said in a fainting tone, “ Her warmth brings me back to death.”
About the Author
Yasir Khan was born in Quetta, Balochistan, Pakistan on 17 August 1993. He has studied Political Science and History. He has availed his degree of M.sc in Linguistics from Quaid-i-Azam University Islamabad. Currently, he is Lecturer at Balochistan University of Information, Technology and Management Sciences (BUITEMS).