Hearts.

I'll never understand what our hearts are really capable of. How long they can go on beating despite all the suffering they go through before they would just give up. I've seen all kinds of hearts. Most people would call them ugly. To me, they are all beautiful. Its just amazing what this little organ can do. How much it can take and still keep on beating. How fragile it looks and sounds but in reality how much strength it carries. Over the years i'v learnt that none of us is bad. No matter how wrong a person seems there is always something so beautiful inside them, hidden beneath all that skin in this little thing. No matter how different we look from the outside, from the inside we are all the same. All beautiful and unique and lovable. What i believe is that no one sets out to do wrong in this world, what we end up doing entirely depends on our circumstances and that clearly can't be declared as our fault. We are all messed up but we are all good people. I believe that if we learn to look at people's hearts, this world would be heaven.

Why?

The sky was clear blue with a few flakes of dark clouds showing signs of rain. She sat comfortably in the backseat doing the usual, palm of one hand supporting her left cheek, eyes fixed at the sky, quiet as calm water. But something was different today. There was fresh pain, there had been an accident, The wounds that were stitched shut long time ago had blood leaking out of them, it wasn't the mirror fogging but the constant appearance of tears blocking her view. People were involved, people she loved and truly cared about. Another nightmare had come to life, another fear confronted her that day, another hope died a terrible death, another day went dark before night. Same question, just one question. Why?  

Rantings of a tired mind (3)

It was one of those nights that grew dark as she struggled to hold it together. She was alone in bed, hugging her legs with great force as if her world would fall apart if she ever let go of them. Laying in bed on her side, despite all the strength with which she fought to keep them from flowing, with an interval of a few seconds, a tear hopelessly made its way down her pale face and disappeared into the pillow. Memories came hurling down at her, one by one, each leaving its mark on the pillow while it turned wet. Her heart was racing like a horse, desperate to burst right through her chest. Her voice died as soon as she made a trembling sound. The horrors from her past kept her awake yet another night.

Rantings of a tired mind (2)

Even though i'v spent endless nights at war with my own self, where my heart was forcefully turned into a battlefield and my desires my enemy, tears fell like bombs and prayers played the role of well sharpened swords, i fought with all my might and defeated the opponent. However at dark cold nights like these i feel an itch in my deepest wounds. Though the damage was set to heal a long time ago but sometimes.. times like these this itch tears apart the perfectly sealed memory box and takes me back to our land where once the days were filled with the warmth of the sun and nights with a million stars looking down at us.

Rantings of a tired mind.

I've never felt more compelled to put down everything i'm feeling into words. Though words fail me quite often but somehow at this moment there is this maddening force that sets about in my heart, rushes all the way up into my head and explodes into a million words. All so unique and painfully beautiful. These words are not just a few short lived figments of my imagination. Rather each word narrates a tale from my savage past. The dark days that were so constant that the earth of my soul forgot what it was like to feel the kiss of the sun, when my heart was nothing more than a thirsty human lost in the desert seeking a few drops of water to content its thirst.. still that tired little organ kept beating.. hanging on to whatever hope there was left. My fingertips are constantly reaching for the alphabet keys, forcing me to bring another word to life as soon as the last one has emerged. Maybe because there is a deep realization in my head of the uncomfortable night that will follow.. i fear that if i stop writing the horrors of this brutal night will start hurling down at me. Its dark and i'm scared. And like hundreds of nights before i once again lay here alone in my bed at night, trying to recall my favorite tune, my lullaby, my priceless asset. The heartbeat.