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Personal Note:
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Poem
When I stepped in here
I caught the unsymmetrical patterns on the wall,
The dark maroon contrasting curtains,
An open cupboard and 
A thick layer of dust on the broken mirror
The floor, the surrounding 
A damp room with beige walls 
And a glass window with twisted grills
Showing me my place, my cage

But…
But, the dawn welcomed me with its heat, its warmth
It’s been a long time since these spring mornings have seen me
Yet the sunshine hasn’t forgotten my face,
My touch, dry hands, barely wet lips.

The afternoon gathered the clouds,
Whistling a calm breeze outside my window
I could feel the dust around me, 
weighing heavy with moisture.
For a while, the sky was blue, blue like a sapphire martini
But then the sky shattered, 
It was the beginning of the dark gravel-grey ruler 
It began to shower over the shade, over the oak tree
Across the meadow.
The cool breeze seeped through my shirt,
Tickled with my hair near the neck
Embracing my mood, my body.

The wind took me to the narrow balcony,
As it knows a spell and whispered behind my ears,
Eavesdropping on my mind and stealing my sanity.
When I stretched my arms the raindrops fell directly on my grasp
The wind ruffled my shirt and the rain seeped inside
And ran down my curves, my breasts 
Kissing my cheeks and lashes.
I closed my eyes, inhaled the earthly scent
And a thin layer of subconscious dream appeared
Of you touching me….

But something is missing here
The city is new, constantly whispering,
Scaring and mocking me. But back home,
I had my big beautiful balcony, with potted plants.
And no grills, the cityscape was a cage in itself 
A graffiti in my mind big, busy and beautiful.
Each flat narrating a tale at once, talking at once
Or maybe crying at once, burying their love somewhere
Here in the air, in the city.
I miss home,
I thought I won’t, but I do
The conversations with Mumma 
They are not as deep as they used to be,
Back home sometimes there were no conversations just her 
sitting by my side quietly was enough.
I miss that.
See I assumed I am selfish. Which I’m 
But I think I’m selfish in my own selfless ways.

I am…
I am the girl, there in the corner of the darkroom
With purple blue green party lights.
She, she is constantly worrying 
She knows she doesn’t fit here, 
She fits under the extended tin shade
Where the chairs don’t match and it’s a mess.

I’m the girl who becomes tensed 
when her reflection falls on the mirror,
She is hinged with questions 
Holding a half-empty glass with faults of her own.
What if she was a bit taller, 
Sharp features and, and the marks on her thighs were lighter.
I’m her, self-conscious with her own self.

The city scared me with its own ways 
But the spring was not scary this time,
Was it because I met you?
Even your dark silhouette became more comforting 
Than the flower blossoms. 
The unknown city, endless walks, forgotten skies
Became familiar with you.
You filled the void with the untold conversations,
The evening with your fathomless glances
The starving nights with your kisses.

When my reflection stood next to you
In the mirror, your hands ran through the arch of my back
Through the tangles of my hair
You took my scars with you without a bargain.
You made me fall in love with myself with yourself 
Entering somewhere maybe the dreams or oceans morphing 
With our own self.
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