There is something that each of us has buried deep down,
something that we wouldn’t want to let go.
It is my journal for me.
The treasure of my emotions, the keeper of my secrets.
It has stood by me during the toughest tides of time,
Incessantly providing unsaid reassurance,
Images of clearer waters of futurity
And swallowing the past mysteries.
As I sit down to express myself therein,
Its blankness stares at me at times,
waiting anxiously to be written in, by me.
The pen makes pensive sounds on paper
With strokes, callous yet searing
Seething out truths yet lived and unlived;
A life that I have only imagined; my unlit lies,
my fears as deep as the ocean.
I lose myself in the placating blue of the ink,
the parchment bears testimony to the rise and fall of my psyche,
yet sits resolutely on my desk bearing it all
like a sealed promise to be my solace forever.
But does ‘forever’ exist?
That time shall tell.
As of now,
the diary that holds me captive is my ‘always’
Brimming with some more bubbles of my life history
Until we have to part ways…
Even then, it shall be transmuted into my memoir,
for a piece of art can never die,
So, we shall write each other for as long as we will.
M.A ( English) Final year