Unfinished: Truth be told

With every brushstroke, speculation mellowed down his perception.
With every splash of colour, illusions dulled down his inception.
With every luminous thought, an unforeseen vision got enshrined in his conception.

I belonged to a different age and time when the truth stood tall in its immeasurable and inconceivable depths. As my gaze swept across the turntable of a room , I cringed at the lack of space in a place strewn with gibberish regarded as memorabilia of the Golden days.

I started collecting things as a madman and tossed them into nooks and crannies that were hidden in the din of the chaos. As I recollected the conversation,  it struck a discordant note in my broken symphony as she sang like a nightingale’s voice. Dumbfounded and perplexed by the sweetness of her declaration , I fumbled and stumbled across my luck to be able to see the lady who literally sang a lullaby to my insomniac mind. I still marveled at her fondness to capture herself like a landscape etched on the face of the canvas.

As I was slowly slipping into a trance, the doorbell rang with an annoying clang. I broke into a nervous sweat and approached the door with the jubilation of a teenager meeting the so-called love of his life for the very first time. I gingerly opened the door with the tact of a five-year old and nearly toppled over my overalls. Swearing under my breath, I despised the oversized version of it and the pants that I had grown out of but was too lazy to replace it with a brand new pair just like my furniture that never saw the light of day with refurbishment.

The first thing I noticed, was her feet that were looked after with the delicacy of a bud in bloom. My eyes lit up with respect and I looked up to her face glowing in the dreary dimension of my space-time continuum. Her elegant smile broke through my worries and cut the awkward silence between us with belligerent grace. I extended my hand in gratitude and she politely declined with a traditional greeting of “Namaste” and bowed her head with respect. Shockingly, I refused the respectful trade of stolen glances and grinned at her.She stepped in with the shyness of a bride and took in the clumsy place with humility and serenity spread across her form. Her eyes shone with playful mischief and dazzled with the allure of a faraway land.I stood in the shadow of her resplendent grandeur and bit my tongue at the opportunity that knocked the hair off my head. She delicately seated herself on the pincushioned armchair and she motioned with her eyes to begin with the portrait. I took her for a woman of integrity and discipline.

With due respect to her turf, I slipped into my manifestation of an artist taking to the blurred visibility of the blank canvas. Coyly brandishing the elegance of a gazelle , she sat in silence and I, begrudgingly regretted the lack of exchange of words between us. Determined to break the silence, I appreciated her timeless beauty and asked of her profession. She beamed with pride as she claimed that she used to be a danseues. I exclaimed at the prospect of her foraying into the ballet.She read my mind on an urge to share more and said that she ventured into various forms of dance , majorly inclined towards classical dance forms from India. Nodding in revelation, I marveled at the exquisite and intricately woven dress. Enamored by his stray looks, she replied with a fervent nod that it’s called a saree, which is a garment elaborately draped around the body and traditionally worn by ladies from South Asia.

I resumed the artistry with the exultation of a highly accomplished winner and concentrated on the curves in her torso. Curious like the Cheshire,  I questioned her further about her art. She spoke with the dalliance of a newfound lover and professed her love for the dance and it’s manifold manifestations. I prodded her further and delved deeper into the conversation, wanting to know more of her. She was estranged from her family who had disowned her when they realized her trajectory towards star-crossed love. Later, she knew about being possessed with derisive obsession and shook with the shivers of the past. Sensing the turbulence,  I extended a comforting hand to caress her luscious locks but she sensed the sympathy buried deep in my advances and shrugged her shoulders with a dismissive air. Furious with rage at the cowardly guy who raised a hand at this docile heart broke me apart with a sledgehammer and I dabbed at the vermilion shade with a pronounced crassness.

She went on about her untold fears of heights and her disbelief in miracles. Every renounced faith of hers was traced to the betrayal of a close one. Closing in on her life-sized masterpiece but never on her life, I announced the unforeseen end. Nervous with excitement she edged closer and looked at it with the eye of a visionary and declared that she wasn’t satisfied with the outcome. Disappointed and defeated, I asked her what did it lack?

“My scars, Why would you blatantly ignore those parts of me?”

I was taken aback by her question and replied back asking her in turn that why would she want to be reminded of those harrowing circumstances of her life and have it captured in a portrait which should only tell of the divine charm she possessed.

She spoke with the courage of a warrior and told that the piece is unfinished without those gentle reminders of the bygones. She further explained that they told of her surviving against all odds and rising above the condemnation. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, she wanted to look at it and not contemplate about the perfection but the imperfections that life rained down on her in the early years of her life. She wanted to be happy in the desolate corners of her heart as she knew that the “scars were the only ones who had remained faithful to her.”

In that moment her life was undone and this time I was overwhelmed by her heroic strength and the resilience with which she fought battles everyday.

I took her in my arms as she twitched and tried escaping from me, feeling humiliated at the depravity she had invited me in.I held on and told her the truth that- 

“The finest harmonies are those between colours opposed.”


4 thoughts on “Unfinished: Truth be told

    1. Thank you so much for the honest critique. I usually get lost in the writing that I don’t concentrate on all of this but I will surely take it up.Thank you😊😊😊


  1. Getting lost in the writing does add in a whole lot of emotion into your posts. This post highlights just one of the many million truths waiting to be told.

    Liked by 1 person

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