Birthdays, Festivals and Parties

No longer do I look forward
To wearing my new birthday dress.
Impeccably wrapped gifts no longer
excite me.
I do not cut cakes with numeric
candles glowing on it.
I ignore most messages, pings and tweets,
That remind me of
my birthday.

With each passing festival
I see new trends in the market.
Playing with colors or fire
is not "my thing" now.
I wish no one comes home
with a box of sweets in hand.
I wish not to be wished at all.

I loathe parties thrown by friends,
Their birthdays and their weddings.
Their house-warming and their
baby-showers and their successes.
Sipping a drink in hand and
Thinking.
Reminiscing about chances I had
but did not take.
Wondering about how lost I am.

Where did I lose it ?
At fifteen - when I was blissfully
unaware ?
Or at seventeen ? When I did not
know how to do it.
Or at twenty one ? When I failed to
realize what exactly to do.
Sadly I stopped counting after that.

Comments

The Enchantress said…

I believe one should never stop celebrating..

March 18, 2014 at 12:14 AM

Sameera said…

I agree with you. The excitement for birthday diminishes after a certain phase. No more craziness for lovely days, and counting the days months before the birthday.

May be it;s just the part of growing up :)

March 20, 2014 at 6:34 PM

UNUTTERED WHISPERS

I know it was you, following me all along. I don’t need eyes to see you. It started raining and I paced up. You were anxious about me.You offered me your umbrella with your face hidden.Only if you had understood me ! I never said those three words, but I thought you knew. P.S 1:My first attempt at 55 fiction. P.S : A real big thank you to all blogger friends who made my birthday "A day to remember".

ILLUSIONS OF REALITY...

The more you point out my mistakes, The more you are drawn towards me. The more you try to hurt me, The more you bleed in your heart. The more you run away from me, The more my memories haunt you. The more you want to forget me, The more you are reminded of my presence. The more you want to chase me away, The closer I come to you. The more you hate me, The more you end up loving me. The more you call me an “illusion” The more I dawn as the reality of your life….

CONFESSION OF A WOMAN...

When I'm born,I'm jeered at.When I'm a child,I'm made to believe that my reason for existence is somebody else.While I'm growing up,I'm discouraged to question.My brain and heart are numbed.I cannot die too,since it will bring infamity to my family.People would say,"At this age,what could have forced her to terminate herself ? She failed to materialize her fantasy.Such bad morals." I fast for the well-being of my father and brothers.When I outgrow my frocks,I'm let off to another household.There, I work for others, without pay.I have children but they treat me like a door-mat.Here too,I fast for my husband's and childrens' long,peaceful life.When the man of the house,who happens to be my "husband" dies,I shed a part of my soul.I have no right to live then,I just breathe and sit in a corner.Rest of my life is spent in praying-for death.They say, "Woman needs a man.In childhood,its father.In youth,its husband and in old age,i...

FranKophone

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