The heart that boo…

Is she losing out on the very essence of living in the quest of survival hood?

Here I am standing on my own feet, one of the long awaited want fulfilled finally but yet again the contend feeling inside ceases to fill the hollow within me. I toss and turn in my bed craving for a peaceful beautiful sleep but in vain as I lay with my eyes wide open with sleep miles away and peaceful sleep another miles away.

My thoughts wander away to the old woman who lay on the street’s pavement trying hard to cover her face with her shivering grip on the faded green colored tego to avoid the unwanted gaze from every passerby who simply smirked at her. The strong smell of alcohol emanated each time she sneezed and coughed harder confirming her drunken state and the bad cold she was infected with. Her name was “Dema, 63 yrs old” thus Aum Dema to highlight her respectful age.

Little did one wonder that behind that shivering loosing grip of the green faded tego was the face of a grief stricken old female or little did anyone bother to see the emotions roaring out of that tear ridden wrinkled face of the old female. Every passerby concluded her as a drunken good for nothing old woman but hardly did they ponder over her reasons to be in such state. The old woman choked on her introduction, tears consistently trickled down from her sulking eyes wetting her wrinkled cheeks conveying a heart wrenching phase she was doomed to go through.

“I am shedding tears for my blind husband who begs alms at the memorial chorten for our daily bread butter. I cannot stop my tears trickling down because I cannot stop thinking about my only two sons who have deserted us for their own fight for survival amongst the fittest. I drink. I get drunk. I lose my sense of direction and I forget where I belong. I feel free. I wander along the streets until these tears blur up my vision to walk further and then I lie down dreading the emotions I must go through again.”

Tears welled up as I tried putting my keys back into the car ignition after bidding a soft boo to Aum Dema’s woes of a shambled life.

The pair of music speakers above my bed shelf continues to play all my midnight collections giving me a reason of comfort that every living soul has their own share of emotional baggage. Size does matter though. I toss and turn feeling the wet pillow and the arms which embraced a blind man’s sight.