ZARA M.

As oceans run dry,  It is a time to try,  As he drifts by, So do I. Things turn to boil; We let them toil. As moments pass by, Our silence replies, And fate denies. ~Zara M.

Dear Heart, Some days I feel like writing an infinite number of words to you, and some days, it is just me staring at a blank page with endless emotions inside me, resisting coming out or struggling to take the shape of words. The topsy-turvy phase I am in at the moment has taken hold of me; some days I am drowning, and the other days, I am floating over the skies, swinging between depression, resistance, and elation.   I am writing to you today with extreme pain inside me, I am not aware of the condition I am going through, all I know is that something is not right in me; perhaps it is my heart.  Not a second passes when memories do not unsettle me; my heart is crushing with unknown sorrow, it may be your departure, words you could not keep or the trust I placed in you.  Tonight, coffee is reminding me more of you.   ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  Not every day is a Sunday. People do not stay confident every day; misalignment occurs, and doubts dominate. The ultimate choice remains acceptance, and releasing oneself from the identity crisis that follows.  Today, with severe heaviness in my chest and head, I am dropping words onto paper. I messed up brutally at a phase in life. Since then my brain is constantly torturing me, to the point of slaughtering every fragment of peace within me.  I have always believed that perfection is overrated and almost perfect is perfect enough. But today, I bungled where I could not afford to; I am half tormented, half dead, and completely unconscious of myself, to the point of feeling as though I barely exist.  My body has stopped responding to me. I am stunned. Whatever I started my day with has left me in mental and physical torment. My very existence has already suffered several miseries recently, and today's anguish has merely added itself to an already establis...

Tonight, I am not I but you are you Whatever happens, just do not forget my presence. For as your departure unveiled  I quietly remained,  though my heart failed.  ~Zara M.

Something notable my existence has comprehended is not to keep clinging to past and to desires. Things come and go, and when you become habituated to releasing, to letting go, and to making space for the new, that is where you begin to live with freedom.    As Paulo Coelho writes, " When someone leaves, it is because someone else is about to arrive,"  unveiling the complexity of the universe: something when leaves, it makes space for something else to fill the void. That is how the universe works, and this deeply layered toil is tough for our small minds to grasp; we begin to distress over what has left, without understanding that its departure may simply be the universe making room for what is yet to come. ~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.