Undeterred

Have you ever had dark clouds sneak in

When you were basking a bright sunny day?

A little smile edge it's way to you

While you wallowed away?

Have you ever seen the red

Fight it's way out of the white and black?

Or the yellow flower grinning nonchalantly

In a barren field burning all else away?

Seen the lone wave break the surface

Even when the air is still and staid?

You will find the one drop escaping to fall

Tissues be damned, hello shirt stain!

Have you found that river refusing to stop

No matter how crooked the forest makes it?

Try as hard as you can to shut it out

It will sneak in, feelings will find a way!

- © Haem Roy

Aug 2017

Surrenders and Dead ends

Very long ago, I wrote a short fiction piece called 'Flailing Arms, Quiet Surrender'. Today, I found myself with a follow up, and decided to try a new direction to this story. Comments welcome.

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It was a dead end. He had failed.

And so had she.

When he met her all those years ago, he heard her, felt her, and found comfort around her. She closed him out but he was determined to heal her. Only... his determination faded faster than his t-shirt.

He hadn't realised it would be this tough. Or this emotional. There was history, so much history, behind all her complexities. And with every page he turned he got terrified. "Maybe I will only make it worse." "Maybe I can't handle this. She needs someone stronger."

She had started opening up. Revealing secrets. Sharing fears. She was starting to believe he was strong. Maybe strong enough to stay. And rebuild her. She would rebuild him too. She hoped to patch up his insecurities, his fears, with smiles, words and a comforting presence just like he had done with her.

He didn't want to be rebuilt. She was patching him up and he feared getting lost. Losing his past. Slipping away from the sharp edges he loved to toy with.

What do you do when one side of the sinking boat tries to float and find the sky, while the other is eyeing the seabed delightfully?

The boat broke. And so did they. She lost sight of the sky, always hiding from the light and never to try to float again. And he found his seabed, familiar and welcoming, dark and deep.

 - ©Haem Roy

March 2017

The vault

Scents

Scents. They imprint themselves. Not just with their whiff, but with their stories.

They become a part of us. They take away a part of us. And store it with them.

They take us back in time and bring alive memories as fresh as dewdrops.

The scent of the floral soap in the bathroom where you grew up, reminding you of the early mornings for school and the towel whipping your long hair received after a wash.

The scent of antiseptic taking you back to the ‘stumble’ in the playground which left a scar on your calf that hasn’t faded.

The scent of mustard seeds and curry leaves as they crackled in the pan to bring alive feelings of anticipation, eagerness, hunger.

The scent of Gulmohar flowers squashed upon the road, turning the path red. Just like the one you lived on as a child.

The scent of mogra flowers bringing back the prayer songs to your ears. Close your eyes and you can feel your grandmother’s touch once again, holding on to her pallu at the temple.

The scent of musk and sweat, blending with your emotions and taking you back to the tizzy of your first kiss.

The scent of freshly brewed tea with sprigs of mint, taking you to the little tea stall on the highway and an hour long conversation with a stranger.

The scent of an old book can make you nervous again. It holds the entire library where you spent the weeks just before the exams.

The scent of fresh ink, little love notes scribbled on tiny paper that made your day.

The blended scent of marigold and grass and you can almost taste the salty tears from your first heartbreak at the park.

The scent of smoke and perfume, and nights half forgotten. Music and lights, friendship and frenzy, adventures and regrets.

The scent of that deodorant. Used liberally on the trip of a lifetime, with hours spent in the train and on the road.

The scent of you. Bottled in my head. Locked away in my mind.

The scents linger. The scents never go away. The scents will always stay mine.

 - ©Haem Roy

January 2017

Losses

When the rug was pulled from under her foot

When she fell flat on her face

She lost her perfect face to the scars

She gained a drive to perfect her mind

Her losses are what made her

When her world turned quiet

And she found no music around

She lost the rhythm she was swaying on

She started creating her own tunes

Her losses are what made her

When the room turned empty

And her shadow walked out the door

She found no one to laugh or cry with

She learnt to laugh and cry for herself

Her losses are what made her

When she looked down at the the edge of the ledge

And saw only darkness below

She couldn't find her way forward

She lit a flame within her and enjoyed the height

Her losses are what made her

- ©Haem Roy

January 2017