Dream Me to Life

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As the low hanging bluish grey clouds consumed
the sun’s radiance and blanketed its rays,
your darkest thoughts emerged and devoured your
hopeless soul.

Everything is cyclical, life is chaotic and you feel
like you have no control, so you let the mind
wander for one last time. One last time, like it
has been since the day your heart tripped
and fell into the flowing lava lake.

Invisible tears trickle down your unrefined face
from your rheumy eyes—it is only your heart
that is crying. You yearn for relief, but relief
dangles above piercing rocks at a cliff’s edge,
in the midst of an approaching avalanche.

You recall that time when you first stumbled
upon the one you thought would be the love of
your life and your forever. Now he’s gone,
leaving nothing but footprints in the
sand at the mercy of restless waves.

It kills you, but you’ve been dead since the day
he left you, yet somehow you continue to die.

You wish the curse would be broken, you want
to be free and rise from whatever has been
holding you captive to the grave of your own life
and thoughts.

Your smiles go from being few and far apart,
to vanishing completely. A straight face,
starving for life like a river that lies stagnant
in the middle of the Sahara desert, seems to be
your new transformation.

You’ve accepted the heartbreak, you know you
may never love again. You’re clinging to fragments at
this point, and the life you wish you still had.

Will you ever be able to find a replacement?
Someone who will effortlessly make you laugh,
the one that ignites that fire in your soul.
A fire so powerful that just the thought
of its presence turns you into ash.

You want to feel alive again. You want to make
love so passionate, so intense, and so soul
connecting that you forget you’re even human.
Just like the time you saw the eighth wonder of
the world in about thirty minutes.

You’ll never forget the rainy days, a constant reminder
of how he brought you Kadupul flowers, a species
as unique as you are.  The flower only blooms for
a few hours at night and you always wonder if
there is a message behind why he gave it to you.

One day, for the first and last time, you watched
the flaming yellow sunshine morph into heavy
metallic grey clouds. The skies wept ceaselessly,
mimicking your tears, which flowed briefly before
being mopped up by your parched face.  

But those are just memories, ones you’ve taken
with you ever since that day. You eschew thinking
about it since you can’t grasp why any of this was
happening to you. The perfection you once perceived
was now your death sentence.

You finally understood what your nights of sleeping
on the waterbed filled with your own tears meant.
You fell in love with someone you only knew through
your imagination.

You’ve somehow managed to convince yourself
it’s more than just a dream, and you’ve been
frantically searching for your lover ever since.

 

© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018

I Found Home on an Unfamiliar Street

I retrieved the house key from beneath the limestone rock in the daisy garden, just like I did after school each day since moving to this new house. I recognized the rock-type due to its striking resemblance to one I read about in my earth science textbook. As I proceeded to unlock the door, I paused and looked down at the pockets of my khaki pants. They were brownish-red from repeatedly shoving my hands in them while playing a few games of marble. I thought about hiding the dirt stains on my pants to avoid being disciplined, but I know trouble too well to be scared—it is my life. I finally unlocked the door, but all the blinds were closed, curtains drawn shut, and lights off.

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Image Source: Pixabay

As I reached for the light switch, the lights magically came on—I forgot they were motion-sensory. A group of people suddenly emerged out of nowhere, holding balloons and wearing birthday hats.

“Happy Birthday George!” They shouted harmoniously.

I stood in shock, holding on to my chest to prevent my heart from leaping out. It could have still escaped through my mouth, which in the midst of all the excitement, opened to an astonishing 360 degrees, yet letting nothing out—not even air. After a few seconds which seemed eternal, my breathing returned to normal.

As I regained my composure, I was greeted with hugs from the woman with whom I’ve been living since she picked me up off the street. She must have stared into my eyes for at least 5 minutes, before tears began flowing down her cheeks—they were tears of joy.

As her tears morphed into a big smile, she uttered, “Today is your birthday George, and mommy loves you.”

I was bewildered. It was preposterous that someone I’ve been living with for two weeks knows my birthdate—I don’t even know when I was born. This was the eighth family I’ve lived with, and each one assigned me a different birthdate.

“Who is my mother, where is she, and how do you know that she loves me?”

“George, I am your mother and I’ve always loved you.”

© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018

Untie the Knot

He ordered me to get the hell out of his house, but after 18 years of marriage, my innocence, and a generation of our genetic line—not even death will part us. Things keep getting worse, I barely speak to him, he doesn’t speak to the kids at all, although they did nothing wrong. He never leaves the house anymore, not even when my father comes by—he hates John. He has become incompetent.

Nowadays, he sits in the living room in the dark on his old mahogany rocking chair, which squeaks piercingly. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s there—the scent of tobacco permeates the air.  I hear him cough at times like his lungs are being expelled. He seems to have given up on his health and well-being, so I don’t even try to help him.

I don’t prepare his meals anymore—he refuses to eat. His last meal was burnt toast and scrambled eggs along with a cup of Blue Mountain Peak Coffee infused with arsenic. He loved his coffee, and I always made it to his liking.  I dislike how demanding and overly dominant he is—he wants everything done his way. His ill-temper drives fear down my spine, I never know when he might snap, so I do everything to please him.

I hate when he forces me to kiss him and be intimate. He’d always walk into the room intoxicated, and angrily tells me what sexual position to assume.  I usually close my eyes and pretend I’m sleeping—it works most times.  Other times I can feel his cold fingers under my nightgown as they explore my legs and everything in between. Of course, I allow it to happen—he is my husband. He used to be superb at making love—that’s why I fell for him.

Sometimes I wish we’d put our differences aside and make amends, but I don’t love him like that anymore.

I think it’s time I leave this house as he demanded, and maybe after five years, his soul will finally R.I.P.

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© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018

Love Blows

Magnolia blossom danced to the rhythm of my heartbeat as they fell gently to the moist forest floor—it is spring. I watched in admiration as my secret lover’s long flowing dress swept over the petals, meticulously repositioning each one. The time is now—time for our love to bloom. There is one problem though—she won’t even look into my eyes. Sometimes she comes on to me so strong but retreats as soon as I try to hold her hands. I desperately want to kiss her, but she’s too shy and unpredictable. Her uncertain mood makes it difficult getting to know her.

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Image source: Pixabay

She gets so angry when it rains, doing things out of her character. I wish she would give me a chance to profess my love to her. But she is too scared and prefers hiding. The only time I’ve ever seen her in a jovial mood, unbothered and relaxed, was the day we met on the enchanted beach hidden in the middle of the forest. She played courageously with the monstrous waves, while whistling a unique melody, long enough to hear the beauty of it, but short enough to keep you wanting more.

Maybe one day she’ll let me get close to her, stop hiding, and love me unconditionally. I’ll take her on romantic dates—long walks on the beach. Of course, touching is permitted on our first date—touch me everywhere. It’s nothing she hasn’t done before—after all, she is the wind.

© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018

The Journey Continues

Thanks for joining me! I am happy that you’ve decided to tag along as I rekindle with my previously forgotten passion—writing. Read with a mind as open as the ocean. Follow as your imagination leads you down a path of satisfaction engendered by the beauty of words beautifully crafted. Get to know the characters, empathize with them, and understand their story. Don’t hold anything back when reading—it is only then that you’ll find liberation within the words.21317991_1398147766964473_5856662257764655291_n

 It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way. — Ernest Hemingway

© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018