SEX AND OTHER TALES

PEACE

What is peace?

Home? Success? Freedom? Music? The words of a poet? Or the darkness you want to hold so dear?
Or is it love that consumes you, day in and out?

Is it the violins or the piano keys, the giggle of a friend, the old letters from love lost long ago, the sudden uncertainty that kicks in the newness or the aloof youthfulness?

What exactly is peace?

Is it the pillow that knows all your sins? The sins that keeps you from sleep. The notes of a stranger singer that aches your heart with every possible heartbreak.

Peace. So it is about peace.

Is it the first cry of a child on his birth, or the way the daffodils sway, the way the sunflowers beam with brightness or is it something you can't see? Like the air. Invisible but still there. The warmth of the burning woods, the thoughts of a night, THE NIGHT.

Love is not peace. Nor is hate. Nor the breaths you take in while gasping for air. That's not peace. It's not your lover's hand, nor his touch while you sleep. "Is it him then?", one must think!!

What is peace?

Is it when you lose everything and find it all at once?

No. That's not peace.

Peace doesn't hide behind intentions. It is a rather valued but a volatile emotion. Peace is not forgiveness but knowing that you committed a sin. It's the dark dreams that stares at you with nothing but death in it's eyes. It's when the soul suffers the most before a bright new sight. The pain that persists even when the situations get resolved, it stings.

Peace for you is white. It's black for me. Peace for you is the tranquillity, but it's the disruption that claims mine. Peace is not all floral and sometimes the thorns for a lost soul. Peace for you is you, for me what if it's you?

What if it's your smell for me? What if it's the closeness that calms me, and the distance that sets everything in a disarray? What if, for me it's all your words that you no longer speak?

Peace in one's self? Were you born out of yourself? No. Humans procreate, in hopes of being looked after and enjoy it at later phases of life, that's their hope towards the broad spectrum called "PEACE".
Peace is not merely the absence of an indulgence, or the presence of guilty pleasures. It's the fullness and for me the emptiness. It's neither the silence nor the noise. It's you for what I find. It's your emotions that controls mine. It's you. It starts with you. Ends in you too. Yet the times you make me feel so lost.
Piece by piece.

Peace is what you call it!

The minor keys in the notes sends chills down my soul. The minor keys, aren't they the most perfectly, painfully the sweetest. The sadness is most beautifully enamoured by peace. Beautifully and skilfully to such an extent that you struggle to breathe as the same time you wish not to breathe. You want to be loved and hurt at the same time. How come that's peace?

You hurt and hurt and again hurt till you hurt no more. You hurt to such an extent that it feels impossible to inflate the lungs to even attempt to breathe and that becomes peace.

Piece by piece.

Pain becomes your PEACE!!