ZARA M.

Dear Heart,  As life passes, one gets to realize that we see things as we are, instead of what they actually are. Time has trained me, modified, and revitalized me. Whenever I sense negativity in something, I start looking inside myself because that is where things are wrong when outside is not right.  I am glad that such a power has taken hold of me where I can sift through what is bleak and damaging, and that is how I gained my power and peace.  Intellectuality aside, I am seeing your reflection in today's rain, and it is as soothing as softened butter melting over a morning croissant.  Until croissant gets passe, Bye.    ~Zara M.

Old books are the ones abandoned and lonely. They are the books that travel miles to reach us, having passed through several hands before finally finding their way to us. These are the ones no one owns anymore, or those deserted once they have been read. They are, in a way, homeless.  If, in life, we can ever do a small favour by giving them a good home where they are valued and cherished, nothing could be more beautiful than that.  New books are liked by all, what about the ones that were once wanted and are now left behind after being read? They are not less worthy of being read, no less admirable.  Last but not the least, a few used volumes contain notes, written for beloveds by the lovers. They provide a certain sense of comfort, a coziness in holding that book, and discovering these traces of someone else's life. Perhaps that is what makes them special: they remind us of how life circles, how things once loved find their way into other hands, and how stories con...

Dear Heart,  The rain today is calm and comforting, and it is pacifying the wounds inside me. With every sip of coffee, it is you beside me. I have not remained a great admirer of rain throughout my entire life; I had kept it at the periphery for far too long.  As time has passed, I have realized how much I have rendered peripheral; the tenderness the rain drops bestow, which is celestial in nature. Why could my heart not revere the cathartic release rain holds the ability to provide? Late but right, I have understood that nature has one more solace where my heart can breathe.  Until the rain stops,     ~Zara M.

The moment the world reaches its zenith and eternity begins,  the sky reaches its end, and anew beginning spins. I will be standing at the edge, happy to fasten the first page of a new chapter,  with you in it once again. I will meet you at the edge of time, only to begin a new with my beloved.  The world may finally come to rest, yet peace will remain  resting with us, with you, and me,  with us. ~Zara M.

Dear Heart, Sunshine Watching the sunrise today, the sun revealed to me that you had spoken to him about me. I believe he is our mutual listener, listening to both you and me, knowing us all too well.  It is 5:27 am., and I woke to the thought of you, witnessing the sunrise. As the sun wrote upon the sky that you call my name, the heavens surrendered to the rhythm. My day seems to be filled with golden light beyond measure, extra chocolate in my hot chocolate, and a million bouquets of flowers.   The sun sways without restraint, and we both commemorate the morning like a grand celebration. Perhaps every sunrise knows what our hearts have yet to say. In every sunrise, yours. ~Zara M.

The season of peaches and the warmth of August  so close to you, as the atmosphere is rust. The bright sunlight, inside out,  is what my soul craves most.  The warmth of summer is the shadow you leave behind, as the presence is distant, the form is behind. I want to keep you alive, even if i shall do it through fruits, seasons, and months.  For there is you  in every fruit, every season, and every month. ~Zara M.

Flowers, flowers, everywhere; moving right, petals; sliding left, petals. Crowds of people, faces weary. I hear the people, loving words for me, But all I can offer is the silence of me. I witness the love pouring from them;  Where was it all when I needed a single gem? Loud voices calling out my name;  I wonder why nothing feels the same... Seeing them gather, I ponder:  Why did they wait until I could hear no longer?  As things move forward,  I struggle to make a movement,  And I realise,  It was my funeral.  ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  Muffin Reading Thomas Hardy today, I found myself thinking of you. You talked about him a lot to me. Though I have always loved the classics, I had not experienced his world; always knew your taste is well.  Diving deep into a good literature with a cup of coffee beside me, I found you again between the pages. Every word you spoke resonates with me in a way it had never before, and my mind paints a clear sky of you. Feeling your presence beside me, and your smile upon me, my heart asks the heavens for nothing but your reality, for a day when we could sit together and discuss the variations of literature we so dearly adore.  I found Hardy's writing solaceful, slow-paced, immersive, expressive and beautifully atmospheric. I find a quietness within his words that does not rush the reader, but persuades the one to linger a little longer. Similar, I found in Henry David Thoreau's Walden , so smooth, slow, and filled with nature. Every page seems to have a weight o...

Sweetheart, do not make the others wait for ages;  Things grow weary, and taste changes. By the time you realise the love of others, The world grows sore, and words remain on pages. Affection and love are the rare-earth diamonds; Those who fail to cherish are left with silence.   My heart holds the affection a thousand skies carry;  None is treasured, so they are quietly buried. The silver of stars shed with its own timings;  Pearls scatter, and fate keeps rewriting.  Grasp the reality before it is too late;  Love stays, but the universe does not wait.   ~Zara M.