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Sunday, January 12, 2014


“We will forgive each other”, she said.
“What will you forgive me for?” I asked.
The perplexed look, all her craft failed to hide,
the frozen stare, and the drooping jaw:
the moment was delicious.

I waited indefinitely, skeptical but silent.
I chose not to confront those who
kept themselves away in my times of trouble,
 betraying my trust, teaming up with the wrong ones
spreading gossip, passing judgments.

Having the secrets of your soul coming back to you
through the mouths of strangers is a quirky experience.
I have had that, thanks to the fake relatives I once had.

Interesting how those who deserted me in my struggles
make a beeline to reconnect with me years later
through social media, sending friend requests
and messages; some overtly apologizing,
some trying other tricks,
all invariably underestimating the power of the
mute victims who once foolishly loved them.

I hold back my responses and just watch them,
asking in my silence what their recent motives are
refusing  to believe in transformation of essences.

My happiness and contentment lies in the fact that
in moments of direct confrontations
I can hold my head high and ask back
“What will you forgive me for?”
To the apologetic ones I have only one suggestion,
“spare me, please; you may settle your scores
with your gods.
Closed doors, closed chapters.