Broken Walls

For many of you, it may just look black wall; but these walls drenched in the memories of many such nights having a lifetime memory with me. One of my favourite place where my three years of hostel life revolved around “Adda”.

Do you know what these walls are doing to me? They are staring at my half filled cup of tea and blank chair. They looked my each phase of life.They know all my buried secrets. They know all the conversations of nights with them.

Every night I walked around these walls with a piece of Sufi music. These walls and I talked about each and everything which maybe Iā€™m afraid to share sometimes. Even today, they come closer; day by day I feel compressed with the echo of their beats. They remind me of days of fear when I left on that railway station before leaving my city. These walls are shouting on my half done dreams.

Its been a year’s I left that place but these walls are still a part of mine. I know they are broken now, but I’m still afraid to collect pieces of it. That day; before they say something I packed up all the belongings of courage, love, passion, fires in eyes, and fear in the heart. My luggage grew ten times more than when I came to my city. I was standing alone on that station and staring at my luggage and tried to understand my control over them. I was worried What if somebody stole something? How will I save that? If I will run after one thing I”ll lose all other things; I”ll lose all my emotions: I’m carrying today. Maa said, “women have this incredible power of turning any place into home”. I made a home of my own around these walls in the hostel. But she forgot to teach the art of gathering everything from a broken house.

A novice in the world of sham bonds, I still managed to pack every single piece of the broken house I built once in my dream city Its been years and I’m not ready to unpack. But wherever I go, the walls of these new places started coming closer. They become the walls of my house I left and pieces of it which I’m not unpacking.

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