I Finally Won

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 29, 2018

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Submitted: April 29, 2018

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I couldn't ever share my heart with my beloved; as she'd cunningly use all my divulged secrets to vituperatively lambaste me in near future—and for the current moment call me none else but an incoherent cry-baby,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my daughter; as she was too diminutive and small to understand my torrentially inexplicable agonies—and the instant I wailed a trifle more than necessary; she'd definitely seek solace and turn to her unfettered teddy-bears; clay moulds and soft toys,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my sister; as she was too busy sculpting her very own career; standing solitary on the cross-roads of choosing between the conventional society and leading the life of uncanny uniqueness,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my cousins; as they unstoppably ridiculed every form of impoverishment on this planet-and words like 'heart' simply didn't exist within the dictionaries of their abominably jet-speed practicality,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my maternal/paternal uncle's and aunts; as each of them had already their share of sorrows; children and hysteria to counter-and had hides thicker than the dinosaur to even countless oceans of sensitivities and tears,

I couldn't ever share my heart with the uninhibitedly blowing wind; for fear that it'd unwittingly carry my voice to those satanic parasites of humanity out there; fervently waiting to pounce upon the severely infirm and distraught,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my neighbors; as the entire bunch of them were prolific gossip-mongers-who viciously disseminated even the most undigested morsel of food in their stomachs; within seconds to the farthest quarter of the Universe,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my grandfather; as he still existed in those stringently unbearable old-fashioned concepts of his time-and for whom every form of enchanting artistry eventually dissolved into fecklessly languid wind,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my grandmother; as she was the ultimate icon of practicality— a headmistress who measured and equated everything on this earth in the terms of its respective 'degree' or 'certification' or 'commerciality',

I couldn't ever share my heart with my friends; as they were all like the insipidly transient shades of the chameleon; incorrigibly sticking to me when I  was perched on the throne of gold—and deserting me with more heartless disdain the instant I traversed naked on the clamorous streets,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my employer; as all he equated everything on this globe was in terms of the currency coin; ruthlessly trampling over every other trace of an emotion-with his over-sized boots of dreadful manipulation,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my patrons; as the instant they came to know of anything else other than my inimitably priceless talents—they'd instantaneously curb every ounce of sponsorship and invaluable help that came my way,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my fans; as all they insatiably desired to see of me was astounding 'uniqueness' one after another at its unparalleled best-and would only spit and squat at me if I was the slightest defeated,

I couldn't ever share my heart with the walls of my dwelling; as it'd only mean worthlessly beating my skull against virtual nothingness; when I needed a comforting palm to compassionately heal and caress each of my raw wounds,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my teachers; as they'd only sermonize me to study and study all the more harder; in order to overlook and wholesomely forget everything else that was a bothersome thorn in my life,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my doctors; as they'd only prescribe an unending flurry of obnoxious drugs to temporarily mollify my turbulence; secretly wishing that my condition only exacerbated with the best of medication—so that their shop perpetually runs,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my father; as call it 'running the family' or 'the bedazzlement of the corporate world to reach the top'—he would never comprehend the extreme sensitivity of my blood; in his set rules and rigmarole of monotonously routine life,

I couldn't ever share my heart with my mother; as although she'd given me birth-she hadn't the courage to witness and handle my bizarre pain and sorrow—also was perennially blinded by the magnitude; principles and 24 X 7 work of my father,

 


And I still and inspite of all this; desperately wanted to get it out of my heart at any cost on this earth-that's when I locked myself in my air-tight chamber; took out the photo of my God from my pocket-inexhaustibly blurted out everything trapped in my soul; heart and conscience and inconsolably cried-and this time whether
the world liked it or not; I finally won.


© Copyright 2018 Nikhil Parekh. All rights reserved.

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