Her Photograph

Her Photograph
I only have a photograph of her. Over the past few weeks, it has assumed a human and womanly form only by virtue of my staring at it; it is almost real, while the original remains the lady captured in the photograph whenever it was shot.



For a moment, I wish there was a way possible to smudge her away from my presence like I write off a day gone by and all I did in it once a fresh dawn is here. She is standing at the threshold, waiting for a signal to move into my life, and I am not sure whether to give her a thumbs up or down. Her presence before me is certainly stronger than all other experiences, although all I have is her photograph; it is going to make me happy whenever I look at it: it is beautiful, as per Shakespeare’s definition of beauty. it reminds me of the eternal life angels have, and of the finite life I have.



For a while, it made me feel uncomfortable and awkward; it made me feel inferior. I do wonder what feelings her mortal self would arouse in me when her mere photograph stole a lot of warmth and comfort around me.  Her absence doesn’t in any way remove any of these, but instead, accentuates all feelings her presence is to invoke within me.



I begin to consider avenues to erase her presence completely from my conscience. I only have to stop looking at her photograph, but somehow, I know it is the only avenue to bliss I have as of now. Roads to happiness and bliss keep changing over our lifetime, I know. A unique and different route and road was demarcated for me. She is all set to be a guide for me on a road to  happiness I am supposed to walk on.



I take another look at her photograph, her eyes are looking another way, I can see only one of her cheeks, but they are more than enough to confirm some of the glee and happiness she is to bring into my life. I wish I could know something more concrete about her. I wish I could exchange some mails with her.



I feel it wants to say something to me. It wants to share some secrets she has in her heart. I wish I could tell her some of mine. she seems to be quite willing to absorb all secrets I have in my heart. There is so much within me on the verge of an exit, but there is no one I can share any of it with. I want to break all barriers of silence between us before I march into her world.



I wish I could animate her silent photograph with lively expressions borrowing values from words; I wish it could talk to me. I want to exhaust all creative potentials of language in giving expression to all thoughts ravaging through me while I look at her photograph. I do wonder what heights they are going to touch when she is really before me.



There   are so many zeniths I want to touch, but touching any height is going to be of merit only if I have her as a companion. I don’t think even touching Mount Everest is     going to bring in any amount of joy for me if she isn’t with me: all joys of life are going to be quadrupled by virtue of her company.



I hope she remains with me for a lifetime to pack my life with happiness and gaiety.