Once my mother told me:
“My child, we all have our forevers,
But some these forevers
Are those forevers
Which do not last forever.”
I was in a dilemma of those stars, which the sky had blown into pieces. I was looking at the sky to catch tear drops which may mend my heart like a cigarette does. But mend my heart peacefully without the rugged, rusty and rough smell surrounding me. I wished to be a dead mosaic residing in heaven, to be hugged by an Angel. So that each cut on my body is filled with care. The care which she took with herself, and left me like a garden of weed without any roll. Left a slave who was bound to her weight, who had his wisdom locked in the dungeon of her pure heart. A pure heart which now seems useless, but still has my forever. And the irony is, this forever too, may not last forever. This ‘may not’ is the ashtray of a phase which blends memories into tears. And this ashtray is that maturity, which every broken heart demands.
And that another day, I saw tears in her eyes due to her first heartbreak. I told my daughter what my mother told me.
“My child, we all have our forevers,
But some these forevers
Are those forevers
Which do not last forever.”
– Shantam Sahai
