Dead Roses and Dead Soul

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Dead Roses and Dead Soul No one saw his major loss


Every morning 
walking up to miles
he collects roses
with the hope
he can give them to her one day Every afternoon
forgetting disappointments
he collects hope
with the dream 
she will be with him one day Even by the end of the day,
those fading roses on his desk
and depressed soul within him,
both continue to live
with a desire of reconciliation someday Times changed
but she didn’t. His soul continues to breathe
he sprays water to roses
hoping neither of them dies
hoping they both live for one more day
where they can hope for one more. She never came back
she decided she won’t. Roses withered and died
his soul grieved and died.
He buried roses and his soul
with no hope of a further journey
with no desire for tomorrow. All saw dead roses
being sorry for its loss
but the dead soul within him
no one cared to search
and remained invisible forever. Suraj Ghimire 2020 This poem was first posted on https://medium.com/storymake

Talking Love:- Aakriti in Conversation


Whose Story Was I Writing?

She said, “You can write your love story, not hers.”

Aakriti in Conversation


Image by 5688709 from Pixabay




While writing my imagination, a writer within me has loved to be committed with a story girl whom I christened as “Aakriti.” The meaning of Aakriti in Nepali is an “image of an object.”
In my story, Aakriti is a vital woman character. And beyond stories, in my life, she is the one I have desired as my soulmate. She has been around my literature with the same name and similar characteristics appearing in a different form. Even though she is a perfect imagination, knowingly and unknowingly she resembles a girl that I would be in love with.
My readers have often asked me, “Who is Aakriti? She looks so real through her stories.” As a writer, I take it as a compliment. But one discussion with my reader made me ask myself, Whose story I was writing?
Every time you read Aakriti, I sense a bit of discomfort within you. Are you jealous of her?” I asked her while I was sharing her how Aakriti has been the focal point of my literature and imagination in almost the last two decades.
She replied, “No, I love her! I love to see her happy, and I love it when she is being cared for and loved so much. But I don’t like the guy is in love with her.”
I thought she was teasing me, so I asked: “Why so?”
“Why does he create such a plot? Why often does the story compel Aakriti to love him back?”
Her question gave me a different thought, but I had a point to say, “I love her, ever since I knew love, and ever since I know the literature. So she should be with me, shouldn’t she?”
I continued, “More than ever she is the one who reflects me, she is the one on whom I see my dream and future, and she is my feelings.”
“If God wants every one of his creation to stay happy, who are you to constrain the limit of her happiness?” She asked me on such perception which I had never thought before. She is also the child of God, “How can he compromise with her happiness just because a guy madly in love with her wants her? She has her own sets of happiness, and let her explore them, don’t you think so?”
I am a writer, and I can create my world. I can change things for my behalf.
It was unexpected. Maybe I was hurting my soulmate. But this is utterly personal.

I am a writer, and I can create my world.

With a proud moment within me, I replied, “I am a writer, and I can create my world, I can change things for my behalf, I can make my readers feel, including her, yes including even Aakriti if she exists anywhere that even in her unconscious moments, she feels for me more than I do, she loves me and she shall always love me. If in any of the moment it doesn’t happen, I will tear off all page where she had ignored me….”
You can write your love story, Not hers.
She then asked me, “Will you still be able to change her feeling just by tearing the pages? You are a writer of your love story; you can write your love story, not hers.”
These words had a deep thought, and I only kept thinking. Was I wrong in sketching Aakriti or was I wrong in expressing myself to this real woman?

This post was also published on Medium.


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