"I have woken nights thinking of her
and then turned into myself
to dream other things.
She’s in my mind
but like shifting sands."
'Belonging' is a word which fills us up. It gives agency to us, a sense of community. We feel attached to kindred souls.
It could be with people who we connect with because of a commonality of interests or service, in which case we would be driftwood, sailing where our proclivities take us. Or we could bel...
"I have woken nights thinking of her
and then turned into myself
to dream other things.
She’s in my mind
but like shifting sands."
'Belonging' is a word which fills us up. It gives agency to us, a sense of community. We feel attached to kindred souls.
It could be with people who we connect with because of a commonality of interests or service, in which case we would be driftwood, sailing where our proclivities take us. Or we could belong to a family, which gives our heart a hearth, and our souls a conviction of acceptance. This is where we return even after misbehaviour, where our warts are not necessarily ignored, but are not put up as premier exhibits.
But the belonging to a heart is different than anything else. Because, more than acceptance, there is a sense of fusion. Where the veins and arteries connect inextricably, in ways that, after a while, one cannot make out the beginnings or the ends. Partners, spouses, lovers, friends - they are worlds, but who individually are separate universes of meaning and worth.
They are the ones who go beyond being caregivers - they are crucibles.
Because in that melting-pot, our miscibility is such that though our life’s rhythms might not be determined by them, our inner worlds are. In infinitesimal ways, we change with each other, we change for each other. Until we overlap such that we rejoice and give hurt and take injuries such that when we bleed, we find the blood coming out from the other’s pores.
We bloom together and we disintegrate together. We are both the flower and the dust.
No. We are not permanent. Nothing in this ageless firmament is. But we are the best till we last. When we belong to a heart, we ironically our our best self, even as we subsume our identity and dignity - and are blissful. It is not a euphoric state, but one where our sense of the moment and the truth of evanescence is enhanced by its incomparable and enduring beauty.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on distances -
- On Breaking Up (Without Breaking)
- Distances: Kaifi Azmi Ke Liye
- Departures
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
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The following music was used for this media project:
Music: Rising Sun by Sascha Ende
Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/86-rising-sun
License (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
Artist website: https://www.sascha-ende.de
