Women like (you,us)

Of all the stars I’ve wished upon
Not one of them has granted me my wish
Of all the nights I stood upon the threshold
Of my courage and patience
And swore under the cascading moonlight,
Not once did I walk back the same.
I shouted and screamed at the stars above
And wished and wished
Until I couldn’t count them anymore
Until your image in my eyes
Obnubilated the stars
And all I could see and feel was you,
My mother would tell me
That women are where men find home
And women like her are a remedy passed on to men
From generations
The burnt remnants of dreams and hopes
Flying in the swollen sky
That they,they are the crushed petals
Of a once beautiful flower.
But then she’d correct herself
And laugh
Telling me that beauty dances like hogs
On men with withering bodies.
She’d then spit a mouthful of water
Or sometimes alcohol
And caress my hair
Telling me that women like her
(Like us)
Are the remnants of love
The small broken pieces of a beautiful porcelain vase
The leftover paint from a beautiful painting
The wind that failed to kiss it’s favourite tree
Or sometimes the shadow that never mingled
With the darkness of night.
She’d tell me this and her eyes would reflect something
Something I have been seeing in them
Since father walked out of the main door
Carrying his favourite painting and porcelain vase
Leaving her behind In a body that later became a grave
And cathedral
For the sins and sinners.

So my love
When I stand at the terrace and look at the sky
I see these stars
That so much like my mother
(and sometimes me)
Burn with dejection.
And when I scream,
A full throated scream of a new born child
I can hear your heart
Pulsing against your chest
Urging you to come and hold me
screaming in agony
The heart wrenching pain
And the beads of sweat gliding down my forehead gently touch my lips
Like a dew on a flower
Whose plight would be different when sun rose
And you, you sit in the couch
Wondering if those voices in your head
Were ever right.

Because honey
Who ever smears one’s hand with colours
After completing their painting
Only to ruin the canvas With strokes of rejection and pain?

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