So, this was something I posted a long time ago. But removed due to some reason. And now it's back.!! And for the people asking me who it was for, well, it was specifically for no one related to me. It's just my friend's story that I saw and she also used to tell me. So, I binded that in words. I just hope you like it. And for her consent, I already have that as long as I don't reveal her name. So, don't come at me. I have her written consent.!!!!!
I wrote only my real experience, things which I went through, but in real, teenage is far worse then this, this phase destroys kids in every country mostly in western,and other countries too, they go through evil phase of life because of not able to control their minds, and because of their parents who don't maintain an eye on their kids and their activities, and let them do whatever they want to and later on when they caught them they be like why it happened.
I feel proud of myself everytime by thinking how kids destroy themselves in this phase but still I controlled my mind and self and kept my self and character clean, just because of my mothers upbringing, that really made me to understand every good bad thing and not to do anything evil, her teachings and way of raising me, made me a good human, and taught me how to control and protect your things from people, she taught me how to live in a limit even after walking in thousands.
All her things made me a better human, which literally differs me from the rest and from the evil girls and from their bad company.
What takes it to write a poetry ? A heavy buch of cool stationary ? Or a heart filled with emotions and feelings ?
Is it that routine ? Or the long holidays? Is it that chaos ? Or the peace ? What does it take to write down our feelings ?
I feel what we live, Is a poetry.... For the repetitive routine, Makes a repetition, The sound of that words, Makes a rhyme like an alliteration.
That cup of coffee, Seems like talking to us, Saying be awake its monday morning dust. Indeed this personification, Touches our soul.
After a hectic tiring day, When the sun waits for you to set, Those clouds and the winds, Just are like your best friends, Why is simile and metaphor, Do difficult to differentiate ?
Though being completely contrast, Cheese and mayonnaise, Make a burger taste rich, Its just the oxymoron, We enjoy in each bite, sip and breath.
Its really strange, How we long to go home after work, And when on weekends, We die to see the world, Irony indeed holds our mind, tough.
Then if I say, That routine, That coffee, That sun, That wind, That cloud, That chaos, That peace, That workplace, That home, That world, That cheese, And that mayonnaise, All help me to make a rhythm, Usually people calling it as a poetry, But for me its a hyperbole journey.
3:09 I was lying on the surgical table covered by the green sheets. The large surgical light was blinding my eyes while the anesthesia had been injected into my body. The dizziness was not immediate like I had imagined, it was slow and thorough unlike my life has been. I had fear and joy rushing in at the same time. The doctor told me to start counting backwardly and I followed with his instruction. As those numbers were taking over my lips, my weak heart sank with anxiety because I knew that it won't be there when I wake up. Memories of my childhood, my screams which called for my mother, my brother's hug in my arms and my beloved's touch on my lips is what brought me comfort at the moment of incomplete numbness in my entire body. The spiral of dizziness began with endless memories I had lived and the moments I had desired. It felt inevitable to escape that feeling of falling into the black hole of unconsciousness. There was just one thing which was a condolence to my soul that the next time I wake up, a new healthy heart will be at the left corner of my chest and I will hug my happiness forever and that happiness would be the smile on the faces of whom I love, my mother, my brother, my beloved and my father watching from heaven.
My sub-conscious began flashing the images of my past. My mother, her tensed face sitting at the corner of the hospital bawling her eyes out for the short lifespan her child was fated with. She wished to cut the threads of destiny but nothing seemed to be in her poor hands. She was in her mid 30s raising her nineteen year old child who had been diagnosed for severe arrhythmia. The last hope for her child was a heart transplant.
I had been waiting for my number to arrive as to receive the gift of life. At some point, I had left all my hopes and I wanted my family to leave their hopes too and let me die but I was destined with a strong family. The shadow of my brother's will for me to get well soon and his unlimited prayers and wishes to god crossed my unconscious mind. I could see him smiling with tears in his eyes. It was like he could fall on his knees any moment and I would run with my consistent beating heart to him and will kiss on his forehead to give him a hug like he always did.
A reflection of my beloved, the hope and the belief in her soul for me to get well soon was clearly visible in her eyes. She was standing in front of a mirror clenching her fists in nervousness. I never knew my unconsciousness was so strong to lead me to a place where I meet all those whom I loved but now I did.
Lastly, I saw my mother smiling and calling me towards her. The more I moved forward, the more she felt far. It was making me anxious. I wanted to touch her but couldn't. I sprinted with all the energy I had and suddenly I was out of that place.
I opened my eyes and saw the white hospital ceiling above me. The room was cold and I spotted a nurse. I asked, "What time is it?" She appeared shocked and without answering she ran outside to call the doctor. I breathed deeply inside the nasal cannula and felt my heart beating rhythmically. It was melodiously beating for me to feel happy and moreover safe.
The doctor entered my room and asked, "how are you feeling now?"
"Where is my mother, brother and-?"
"Oh..I will call him for you" the doctor said in a low toned voice.
I sensed something was wrong. My brother with his red teary eyes looking weak and tired wore a sad smile. "How are you feeling now?"
"Is something wrong?"
My brother looked into the eyes of the doctor and the doctor signalled him a confirmation.
He took a step forward and handed me a letter and broke down into tears.
I unfolded the piece of paper which said:
"Dear son, I could never tell you what you meant to me after your father passed away. The life of a single mother is like an empty pot which is filled with jewels of joy by his children. Regrets are not meant to exist and this is why I am leaving a piece of me in your chest as a gift forever. Do not ever think that I left because I exist within you now. Do all what you want to do, live with all the happiness you wanted to be with and love all that you have. I couldn't have survived without you either, I was destined to die anyway, my dear. Never take this as a burden and make a promise to live as long as my heart beats."
Happiness shread. Gift unfurled. For the first time ever, together.