I am very happy to present this guest post from Indian blogger and writer, Mugdha.
Here is her short bio.
My name is Mugdha, from India.
I own a small website, my haven, where I occasionally write on life and love, mind and heart, books and songs and not the least, you and me. Please do visit:)
Apart from writing, I find comfort in music, paints, rains, sunsets and chai.
This is her guest post.
THE STRONGEST PERSON I KNOW
You retire to your bedroom after a long day,
the bed still unmade with the sheets long gone cold,
a sad glaze in your eye and lie down,
curling uptight to realize that
there is no warmth to hold on to
and finally, as if long-held gates forced open, you cry.
Not sob but cry.
Till eyes go red and tears prickle down your throat.
Nose running and saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth
‘Why would you tell that?’
Oh, but it’s never meant to be heartbreaking in a beautiful, cursed way, love.
Why is being kind and gentle so painful, you ask nobody.
Why do I always bite back my words?
Why can’t I for just once, not overthink and speak my mind?
Why should I suppress all of my now-fading desires?
Why can’t I just run away and start anew?
You can’t hold in your painful sobs anymore
so you let the leash go.
You cry out, scream and howl and
pull your legs up deep till it hurts in your stomach and lay awake, a mess for time unknown.
To save any confrontation you run into the shower,
night silent as scalding hot water trickles noisily on the cold bathroom floor and your shoulders alike,
finally warming a bit of your soul.
How long has it been since someone hugged me,
not said anything at all but just held;
running calming strokes down my back?
You can’t remember for sure.
So you just hold yourself,
trying to breathe and keep your eyes open
till water finally turns cold.
Sometime during dawn, you return to your room,
too exhausted to dress properly and
finally sleep on the cold bed, too empty inside to care.
I know, you have since long, fought your battles alone.
You blame yourself at least once a day, call out yourself weak
Till every emotion dissolves and you submit yourself to resignment.
I am painfully aware that everything hurts, like hell.
I know I am in no position to speak on this
as no one knows you better than yourself
but what if I say that sometimes, I am so much like you ;
you will then hear me out, won’t you?
Yes, we break down into the most real and despicable version of ourselves,
almost wanting to die.
But I know you won’t completely deny that
you do finally wake up, burned out, yes, to the first glint of sun seeping into your room in the morning as birds chirp outside
blissfully unaware of all wrong happening in the world,
and sit on the bed, disoriented, for a long time, I agree,
but then brew that coffee, and even glance at the paper to read the headline of another disastrous news.
You manage to cook something for yourself, a little burnt, yes, but definitely edible,
get ready, slowly, agreed; but what’s more;
even dare to hum a tune and nod towards the old lady
staying in front of your house as she smiles sweetly,
and wait for your bus at the stand, when you could have run.
It rumbles in deeply where you stand as if excited to take you to the hellhole again,
but you somehow manage to not cry or break down
as the doors open, and you step in and not turn back again.
And if that isn’t being the strongest person in the world, love, then no such thing exists.
Please use this link to connect with Mugdha, welcome her to this community, and discover more of her writing.