Yes, I killed my husband. To the world he was an awfully rich man. To me he was a demon. He tried to outrage my child’s modesty. I could not do anything else then. The kitchen knife was at hand. Just four inches into his body and he was gone. To me he was a habitual sexual offender, nothing else.
Never had someone loved so deeply as they. They lived together. Under a sacrilegious bond. With children. In bliss. They aged gracefully. Died in each others’ arms. Yet, no mausoleum was erected or history written. They were just two lovers - Ordinary mortals. But with divine blessing of loving and being loved. Perfect lovers.
I cannot remember my mother, only sometime in the midst of my play a tune seems to hover over my playthings, the tune of some song that she used to hum while rocking my cradle.
I cannot remember my mother but when in the early autumn morning the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air, the scent of the morning service in the temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.
I cannot remember my mother only when from bedroom window I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky, I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face has spread all over the sky.
~Rabindranath Tagore Note : This was one of the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.
The eyes which knew nothing but love… Are not on me today. The lips that did nothing but seal to mine.. Are wordless today. The hands that did nothing but caress with passion… Are away today. The heart that did nothing but cherish me… Is stone today. The soul that was entwined into mine… Is in a different world today.