A
page of my diary
Kavita is
in fact not different from others although
others call her egocentric because she thinks only about herself because she always
takes care of my pain, my problems, my grievances, my welfare and happiness but
if she really is self centered in her feeling then what is wrong in her approach as her self-centered
feeling is the consequence of her deep love for me, if we both care for each
others then why are being targeted. If people don’t like our affinity, our
feeling for each others, why don’t they close their eyes. We don’t like people to look at us with a disgusting
feeling, at our love. It is true that we are a part of society, we must take
care of surroundings and society instead of confined within self and exposing
our likeness towards each other. At the same time we don’t like others to pry
into our silent love it is also fact the
Ishq can not be hidden but what can we do we can not stop loving each others. Our
only mistake is that we like open place to express our affinity towards each which
surroundings hates. we don’t cease our
act of smooching in open place which is supposed a taboo in our society. Even
though her posture, look, attitude are not at par with the others beauties
nevertheless she looks lovely. We don’t care what people say about our open
friendship, our so called immoral acts and her mediocre look but our love,
affinity, likeness are getting more consummated with each passing day.
The
things which had brought me closer to her is not her physical beauty, her
fascinating complexion, her attire but her flight of imagination, her deep thought,
discerning ability and interpretation of events although I agree that some of her
readers did not coincide with her but I had become ardent fan of her creative
works.
It was
her poetry, her love for poetry, her imagination, depth in depicting the
feeling through her Shaeri always had fascinated me when i first went through her
poetry and later her anthology of poems. I got mesmerized by her flight of
imagination, depiction of nature through the conduit of set of simple words,
her every creation was reflection of emotion of a disgruntled girl, reflection
of experiences she had gone through, her frustration, exploitation and
expression of courage to face the adversities.
But who I am ? I am fugitive who ran away from the
battle field and being incarcerated in prison for treason. I don’t justify people’s perception giving me name of fugitive since I liked struggling
though it is different things that I could not become good fighter or I didn’t
deserve for what I chose in my life. I got a bad name for cowardice, for the
act of treachery and here in prison I met Kavita through her poetry, a girl who
depicted life in her own way, her imagination which I could perceive as if she
wrote only for me, her every poem was reflection of life of an ordinary human
being. It touched my heart although some times my mind didn’t allow me to
accept some of her logic and rationalization of event.
Gradually
I was getting an ardent fan of her creative thinking and one day I jotted down
my emotion and sent it to Kavita expressing my love for her thought, flight of
the her imagination, praising her sensibility. Kavita responded “ I am sorry it
is not poetry but it is meaningless or a ludicrous overflow of emotion I can
understand only. I wish to know what meaning you have taken out from humiliating,
rubbish and blurred words’ I immediately replied what I understood and thus our
friendship kept progressing, her poetry now was revolving around the
experiences and life of her only fan that was me. I was getting attached to her
poetry and her poetry had begun to take new shape, a shape of self humiliation,
self ridiculing, insanity. Her image had further got tarnished ever since I
came into her contact. Gamut of her art had confined to an individual. Now our
blossoming friendship had become subject of her poetry. Sometimes it looks idiotic
but Kavita had already confessed that she writes for herself, enjoys her own
creation, if people don’t like her creation she doesn’t mind because she does
not write for them, she writes for herself and for me.
Today I
received a message from her asking me to write few words for her new anthology
of poetry. I am forwarding one of the pages of my diary which I have written
for her.
End
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