Empty Shell

By Dr Varshini

On a desolated road, I found her

An empty shell, a building that was once a home, a neglected muse

The gates chained with rusting metal

The window panes broken and shattered

The garden bursting of weeds but yet you could see how beautiful it

must have been

The heavy doors wailed like an old woman as I let myself in,

The sound echoing through empty rooms

The dust settled in on the floor like fog on a dewy morning

The moss climbing the roof like a child trying to reach for jars on top

shelf

The dried leaves dancing in the hallways as the wind romances it

I ran my fingers on the walls,

Crayons. Photographs. Tiny specks of paint breaking off. Soot. 

The walls of the house soaked the memories of its previous occupants

The laughs, the kisses, the fights, the hugs

The smell of cooking oil seeped into the kitchen walls,

The tears crawled into the pillows,

You could hear the giggles, the gleeful running around.

May be the house loved it’s occupants back. Held them close. Too close.

In haunted corners you could still smell the pain, the wails of loneliness,

the need to be wanted, the urge to be loved.

On a desolated road, I found her.

A building that was once home

A building that lay here post war

That sucked the trauma of loss and heartache around her

That tasted bitterness at the back of its throat

That had to let go of the very people she ever loved

I marveled at her strength

At the audacity of standing so still even after wars shook her foundation

At the stillness she held even after she waged bloody battles inside her 

The way she opened her arms even after she had been wronged

The way she stood there with softness in her eyes and a longing for

someone to hold her

I touched her bruises and scars, her past and present

She will always house memories of her past, of her previous lovers, of

the good times and heartache, of the laughter and pain.

But what beauty it is to love someone who has the ability to give love

even after tasting blood on her lips

Whose love runs carefree like a gleeful river, whose love can make you

swim oceans

What beauty it is to love someone who housed the coldest hearts and

yet had warmth enough to light the world.

Who wants to embrace you even if there is a possibility of the thorns

pricking her body

Who loves with the same conviction, same innocence and purity even if

she knows it could burn her down.

Ah, what a beautiful thing it is! To love and be loved. To hurt and still find

the courage to love.

By Dr Varshini