by Khadija Rupa
Faith was never unsuccessful.
Reality Of Life
Only a few writers
are real.
They understand
a story with a happy ending
is always an unfinished story.
Only a few writers know,
the story is imperfect
if the ending is perfect.
Only a few writers feel,
a story shouldn’t be
like a story.
It should be
like—Life.
Broken Hearts
Right now I am raw. My ache is raw, wound is raw. With my wet eyes squeezed and my shaky legs firmly pressed against my chest, I can taste the sharp flavour of extreme heartache in my mouth. It isn’t the first time. It isn’t the second time, either. It isn’t even the thirty fifth time. The girl whose heart breaks even when a flower dies, how can she keep track of such huge numbers?
All I remember is pain. Unbearable pain.
And I am crying now. Hard. But I am still brave enough to tell you—this: We are not defined by what happened to us. We are what God believed us to be before blessing us with this extreme heartache. Not everyone was, or is, or will be chosen to endure this trial that is powerful enough to shatter human hearts. The sun may break and never be fixed. The sky may crumble down and never be restored. The earth may crack everywhere and cause devastation to the entire universe but believe me, if a human heart breaks, crumbles or cracks, it means this heart is powerful. It means the owner of this heart knows the incredible art to repair souls, to stitch souls, to make souls simply incredible.
Not everyone can own a broken heart. Not even if they want to. Believe me. One has to be incredibly strong to own a shattered heart.
But in case you are wondering why you have been chosen to be so powerful, then know that someone once said, “Great design is achieved not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.” The process of breaking hearts is only to show you the pieces that are preventing you from being a great design, a design that is really incredible. Or you may say a design that is unbelievable. So that you can remove those unnecessary pieces of you and be what you should be: as powerful as your heartache.
Have patience, have faith in God’s decision to choose you for this break, for this grief—and like me—even when completely broken and unaware of how things would become better and when time would heal me—believe that the worst sadness releases the best happiness. And time? Time isn’t meant to heal you; the hurting itself is healing you. Now. And one day, when you are not ready at all, when you aren’t wearing your best clothes, when you aren’t looking your best and haven’t sprayed yourself with your favourite perfume, when you are fighting sleep, staring at a queue of ants on your ceiling, you will be informed—
Congratulations! Your broken heart has been successfully transformed into the best incredible design. Are you ready to conquer the world?
In This World
Some dreams,
aren’t meant
to be seen.
Some things,
aren’t meant
to be desired.
Some longings,
some wishes, some unrealities,
shouldn’t be hoped for.
Some prayers,
should always be there,
unanswered.
So that you understand
this isn’t
the real world.
It is some other.
Trust In God
What you love,
what you desire,
what you seek,
Defines who you are.
You love it,
you desire it,
you seek it,
because it loves you,
it desires you,
it seeks you.
They were all meant for you.
Maybe you got it yesterday;
if not, maybe today;
if not, maybe you’ll get it
tomorrow.
In the end—
you will get it all for sure;
in the same form,
in the same size,
in the same amount.
The End
They wrongly claim,
that a story is incomplete
as long as
there is an unhappy ending.
I say,
as long as there is no happy beginning,
not a single story
ever approaches a sad ending.
Part Three
Darling It’s Me: Love!
Soul’s Light
It took all the darkness
of the universe
to darken me deep inside,
so that I could see you,
I could know—
who you are.
After all, the brightest of stars
is only meant to be discovered
in the darkest of nights.
A Dedication
He is the gorgeous hero
of every romantic novel
she rereads.
She isn’t,
his beautiful heroine—
merely a dedicated reader
more promising to him.
A Powerful Revenge
I don’t believe in loathing. I don’t think of revenge. I don’t curse, I don’t forever suffer. Nothing angers me, at least not for too long.
And at least, not anymore.
But today let me tell you one of the greatest secrets. The greatest kind of relief comes from forgiveness. It sets you free. So forgive. But remember, sometimes the greatest kind of punishment is—forgiveness, too. Sometimes those whom we forgive, forgiveness become their greatest punishment.
A Celebration
Of failure and flaws,
that awaken the soul.
Of love that tears apart,
to give birth to a phenomenon.
Of all the impossible accomplishments,
through hope and endurance.
The Happy Beginning
This God’s universe, is being rebuilt by broken hearts with unfulfilled wishes and an ache that hurts. Tortured girls, end up winning the Noble peace prize. Boys with no hands, teach confidence and success to all those with beautiful hands. Childless women, become well-known as the mothers of thousands. Men whose wives died suddenly, work day and night, representing love and light.
The sadness of strange souls, is constantly producing happy beginnings. And so to the world who once told me “You will never heal,” I just want to say—today someone said to me, “Hey, you healed me.”
Beauty Of Love
Somewhere far,
there is a hidden library
with golden books that are
miraculously everlasting.
All the souls,
who have the secret sorrow,
caress the books’ typewriter font,
and live all the lives they wish for.
The owner
is a mysterious man,
elusive of our
searching glances.
Some say he isn’t a writer;
neither a rhymester, they say;
however, only he has a heart
of words—eternally undiscovered,
with enough power
to transform me
into forever,
into an entire breathing universe.
The Beginning
You were right there before my eyes, unfolding little by little all the surprises life could ever offer. I could clearly see what my ears were hearing and hear exactly what my eyes were seeing. It still tires me to realise how a human being as ordinary as everyone else could be so visible and audible just by living. And so for th
e first time, in a very long time—I instantly understood what I was meant to understand in this small world.
I witnessed every season this world has to offer me long before meeting you. I know exactly how a burning sun behind melting clouds looks and how ancient stars look in the palms of a night river. I perfectly memorised the lyrics of the songs morning birds sing, and what the evening breeze murmurs to midnight. I have seen how a thousand pieces of the one sky swim and how the calmness and serenity of oceans fly. I have even finished meeting people who could break me, who could have built me, fixed me beautifully. But with you, I don’t want to go back to witness, to experience, to feel life’s infinite beauties once again. Because in what went on before, what happened before, there was never the beginning that I have to go back. There were only endings. And whatever there is that has an end, an ending, can have a beginning but it can never be—the beginning.
It is, the beginning, right from you—from here, from today, from this very moment, this nothing or everything—that I want to witness each and everything, I want to experience life and see how many millions and millions of mysteries life has the strength to unfold in front of me, I want to feel life, I want to taste it, tease it, make it laugh. I so madly want to be carried away to anywhere you are found, to anywhere you want to be found. I want to see, feel, and witness it all not again but for the first ever beginning of our eternity.
In uncountable moments that I lived before yet never was I born, in uncountable footsteps that I left behind yet never had I existed there, you are the best thing that ever happened to me…ever happening to me.
You are the best thing I began.
Season Of Falling
The morning is beating outside as only my heart is meant to beat inside. With feelings squeezing out autumn’s colours, with yellow sunshine tying long flared skirts of blue around hidden wind’s waist in the far horizon, my life has started to change bit by bit, little by little.
From thoughts of you to thoughts about you, the ink of longing flows through me the way childhood of rivers flow through mountains and hills. Falling into you, the way a star falls through the infinite miracles of the universe, how difficult it is to live in such a small body with weight, with only two hands, only two legs yet not a single wing to fly away.
How breathtaking, to see dreams dreaming me; and to wander full of wonders—holding my hands, where this love is taking me.
First Love
The world would teach you,
the first love
is the hardest
to get over.
You can’t love anyone
that intensely
more than once,
in a lifetime.
Yet the moment,
this one last person
takes a determined step
in your direction,
all others—
become a mistake.
A forgettable regret.
A lesson so priceless.
…………………………………………..
How should he be?
He should be someone who holds your hand and hears your heart. Because this. This is love.
Butterflies In The Stomach
When you repeat everything that is old between us, that already happened once, or a thousand times—an affectionate call, a tease full of hopes, a push to never give up, a consolation, a deep concern, a thank-you hug, a cute apology holding the ears, a night—it seems and sounds so fresh, new and gorgeous. Every time you tell me something romantic, in the blink of an eye it becomes untold. Tell this to me again and I would fall in your arms just the way I did when I heard it for the first time.
Every wonderful feeling you express, in a second becomes unexpressed. Say it again and you would again witness there’s nothing in the universe that can’t be fixed. What was believable becomes unbelievable: that cheerfulness, that togetherness, that madness. Even every touch of yours, so quickly, becomes absolutely untouched. As if we’ve come to know each other just now. As if we are going to fall in love only now. As if every best thing that took place between us before, is taking place again now.
But for the very first time.
When Love Surrenders
There is a melancholy
I treasure,
it is sweeter to me
than any other pleasure.
There is a tight grip
that explodes flowers from the ground,
perfuming my heart
in celebration of being found.
A stare,
that drags my complete self,
if I could give more than that,
I would.
He And I
He and I
entrust each other,
fearlessly, courageously—
with the most fragile part of us.
This delicate part keeps us stronger
than the hurricane
as long as it stays—
firmly unbroken.
It is also of the nature
to destroy its owner completely
to sharp pieces of broken mirror,
once either of us breaks it even a little.
Crumbling our hearts,
this part’s brokenness
would throw us away,
anytime, anywhere, wherever.
Yet he gives away
his world to protect it.
I, too—
happily sacrifice mine.
An Old Friend
To know you,
is to be knowing
the nameless soul
my body has been owning.
The more
you unfold yourself,
the more
I am unfolded.
As if
you are a mirror;
I am the reflection
breathing there.
What I Love About You
That the things that once were,
so perfect without you—
the words of a novel,
the sunset horizon,
the singing ocean,
the summer butterflies,
one day started to appear,
so very incomplete,
so very imperfect
and empty,
just without you.
Until
The world was invisible,
inaudible and disconnected.
Until you were the one
with whom I shared my presence.
Until, to hear my silence,
you made all the attempts.
Until all your dreams
found a home in my name.
He
His friends,
ring me up,
when he doesn’t
give them time enough.
His mother,
asks me first,
if he ever,
feels hurt.
When I walk
into a gathering he is enjoying,
everyone notices,
he is awfully stammering.
Her Effects
When I’m
with her,
I split into
two halves.
Half of me shakes,
my knees go weak,
my heart entirely forgets
how and where to beat.
Half of me grows serene,
full of strength;
no matter what ails me,
I can face all the battles.
An Adventure
The more
you urge,
the less
I prevent.
The stronger
your hope,
the weaker
my despair.
My Name
And if only
you could see,
how those small universes
in every part of my body,
light up a thousand lanterns
as you repeat
my name,
my name,
my name.
Sometimes in a way
that entertains you,
entices you,
fulfills you;
sometimes,
you say,
it’s an alluring poetry,
whose every verse
can rewrite
your entire history.
…………………………………………………
“But I’m so imperfect for you,” she says, still weeping. He presses his forehead into her temple and closes his eyes. After a few minutes he replies, “Yes, so very perfectly imperfect.”
Sorry
To the mustn’ts,
to the shouldn’ts.
the don’ts,
the won’ts,
the impossibles,
the nevers,
I couldn’t give him—
a no.