Fire

She walks hurriedly past. Looking for something. Frantically searching. There is a glow within her. An untamed spark. A burning fire. She kindles it. She keeps it burning. It burns her. Keeps her afire. Keeps her alive.

It's an obsession. A compulsion. An all-consuming passion. It floods past the barricades, surging in her veins. Drowning her in its manic intensity. Overwhelmed, she surrenders. So awed is she by its magnificence. It controls her now. Completely. She is a mere puppet in its wilful hands. It holds her up. It propels her forth. But a slight slackening of the ropes and she falls. Bruised. Broken. Shattered. She rises each time. She has the resilience. Partly her own. Partly from what drives her. She moves on. The fire guiding her.

But each time she rises, a part of her remains behind. Broken. Cursed. And stuck in the past. She ignores it and moves on. A craftwork zombie of broken pieces. They cry out to her, aching to be whole. She hears them. She blocks them out. It tells her to. The fire. The passion.

Sometimes she looks at herself in the mirror. Shadows obscure her. Shrouding her existence. She has a body but no being. She has no identity. She is aware of this. That her life is a farce. A pretense. An illusion. She knows that she will never be whole again. But then, she does not ache to.

You wonder why she does not break free.? Tear away from the shackles binding her. And fly away. Once again whole. Untarnished. Pure.

She wonders if she can.... 'cos there is a fire within her. A fire guiding her. Driving her. A fire stoked by her. Burning her. Controlling her.

Lost....

Life is so transient. Furiously evolving all the time. And in your hurry to keep pace with it, so many things that were important to you once;things you really cared about, remain behind. In the frenzy of it all, you let go. With the foolish promise that you will still "be in touch". You move on. Dimly aware that you have a past. An ever-beckoning past. A past that you choose to temporarily and very conveniently ignore. But you never realise when that slender thread of memories carefully woven together, connecting you to the past; your past , is severed. Bruised. Torn. Broken. Helplessly flailing in the whirlwind of life till it is swept behind into a jumbled mess of discarded memories. It lies there gathering dust. Rotting. Lost forever. A part of your life you can do without. You never sift through its dark musty contents. Is it fear that daunts you..? Or indifference.... But it remains. A murky testimony to an incomplete task. Once set aside, discarded, LOST; it remains unfinished forever.

We all have an unfinished past. I know I have one. Everything in it is hanging loose. Dreams, Angers, Sorrows, Relationships. At times when I look back (when the regret finally comes and floods through, threatening to take hold of my very being.); I see them. Staring back. Their stares Haunting, Questioning, Lost. And I dread them. Run away from them. So far away that one day when I turn back with my hands stretched, hoping to get hold of that gossamer thread linking me to the past, my past. Hoping to finally set things right. I will be left clawing in the air. Disappointed. With a lost past. A past broken free. Or is it I who has broken free..? So wilfully. To be disappointed... One last time.

Everyone has an unfinished past. And so do I. But mine is lost. Un-mended. Unfinished Forever. An unfinished past written into the book of my life. Testimony to a life of neglect.