Merry Christmush

Today is not merry-sunshine-how-bright-you-are-now day. There are no puppies, doves and cotton candies in the sky. Instead it is dark and gloomy. I look outside; it is drizzling. The dour morning conjured a dingy indistinct landscape of the city slippery, wet and moist. I wish I am in Wuthering Heights. But I am not Heathcliff and I long for my Catherine Earnshaw.

I see silver bells glistening, poinsettias blooming. I hear Christmas songs playing on the airwaves.

Is it me or just the chemical reaction induced by the so called Pavlov’s Classical conditioning? It is Christmas and I feel nostalgic.

Ok, maybe I just miss someone. It is one of those days I feel a gush of creative expression. I want to create something. I could throw colors on a canvass but I am not a painter. I could play the violin and make dogs howl but…I came out with this lousy poem…


Once gain, here I am longing… wanting…
I know the universe will arrange itself
Circumstances will conspire
The gods will connive
To contract and distort time and distance
To unite two souls put asunder.

That is why here I am longing… wanting…
I feel you in every droplets of water in my shower
I feel you as I hold my teacup every morning.
I feel you as I put on my rubber slippers
I feel you behind my curtains rustling.
I am longing…wanting…
Painstakingly begging Waiting for every sign
from break of dawn
Till the vesper bell rings.
That one day you materialize even in my dreams
But each passing day, yearning is tormenting,
bitter sweet

I am longing...wanting
But I take refuge in my heart,
Where at its deepest core it has magical ability
To keep ethereal moments past.


I know… I know I am not a poet. Stop laughing now. Merry Christmas.