Sambhabi Mondal

November 14, 2003- Kolkata

Broken

When I was 6, I first learned what happiness was.
When my mother bought me that heart shaped hilium balloon that wanted to fly oh so high up in the sky and tied it around my Pinky finger.
I remember the smile on my face and the sparkles of glee that echoed through my being.

When I was 8, I first learned what grief was.
As I watched my brother laying lifeless on the ground,
I remember aching for that ever teasing smug smirk on his face that I hated so much.
I remember howling and crying beside his side, begging him to wake up.

When I was 11, I first learned what mesmerization was.
As I lay down on my terrace and looked up to the sky
Awed by the hues of rose gold, ocean blue and somber grey;
Fragmented by specs of gold.
A green kite streaking across.

When I was 13, I first learned what broken was.
When I broke open the bathroom doors; the prison that had held me for the last 13 hours.
A punishment given by my sadistic father.
I remember crying that day, I remember feeling broken that day

When I was 16, I first learned what love was.
When you first smiled at me.
I could feel myself falling for you,
As you whispered poems of promises and showered me with love.

I don't really recall my age now.
As I am stumbling across the borders of so many feelings.
I remember all the people who rebuked me throughout my life.
"See a shrink, have a drink, and relax", they said.
Even you, my love, could not understand how someone could be so depressed even as bright, broad sunshine filled their cracks.
I know you tried to wash away the obscureties.
I know you tried to calm the storm inside me.
I know you tried to find that perfect Rhapsody for me;for us.
But perhaps, somethings are never meant to be fixed.
Perhaps, somethings remain broken.
And perhaps, I was always broken; since the day the heart shaped hilium balloon of the six year old had been broken.
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