By Vidya Rajagopalan
I write to you not as a spiller but as a companion
I don’t know whether to squeal at the amalgamation or to frame my tears on the loss of my identity, this being the non-consensual marriage
The very day my mind built its bricks from insecurity, it crumbled as I crumpled you when I abrogated my promise to confide in you
Now we can hug and kiss as the whirlpool was decriminalised due to its magnitude
But what about our swirling complexities? Our bubbling existence and our acknowledgment ? Moreover what do the waves profess by which we will accepted as a blended hue?
I thought the blindfolded Lady Justitia
Would smack us into epiphany with her books and pelt us into equilibrium with her scales
But little did I know that the crosses and the moons and the Om’s would slice her as a scapegoat to their fiascos
Now books remain a manuscript to marvel at and the weights vying for pessimism to entice them
When will equality claim its limelight with morality being the quilling author in this plot ?
Diary I know you will never blow me with proof that humanity exists but I’d love a sign right before my eyes that:
The whisper of the wind could breathe mindfulness in a State’s peacefulness
The wind chimes signifying the next discovery of apple’s momentum
A flip of your heart will complete me in sighs