letters

Dearest S, My Love,

You question in all your Arien naivety some of the most
profound truths of the world. It is this wedding that you
refer to that has been pondered over by the best of philosophers...
and yet it still remains a conjecture. Why does day wed the night
 in the glorious hour of dusk? why do warm passion filled summers
 blend in with the cold savage winter days in golden autumn?
Why do we find ourselves on the indiscernible verge of truth and falsity?
 Why do our emotions hover over the gray limits that separate love and hate?
Has any one ever found an answer to these? Is there ever a reason?
 Come honey, let us walk this craggy path...let us tell ourselves
 that there is a reason we live - but haven't found it yet....let us keep
the torch of hope blazing. Do you think we shall survive the crushing,
 staggering "realities" for a millisecond, otherwise?

Suji

On Thu, April 19, 2007 5:24 am, she wrote:

> 

> 

> Dear Sujatha,

> Why the brightest of the days have to be wedded to the

> darkest? Why there is a mesh of the unkwown with the people we know? You

> said one day thet the momemt you find that there is a reson , a reason to

> nurture you and bring light in your dark days, quench the thirst of your

> ever thirsty soul right at that moment. you came like a light that

> connotes life in a mad mad and mad way. there were times when you reminded

> me of sabik, her silence , her laughter for sure . just keep the faith in

> me living , with loads of love

> 

> S.

> 

S, My Love,

The blur of time is the greatest medicament. Nothing treats or heals pain and blessed that we are, with a capacity to feel such giant proportions of it, I see no solace. The sadness that churns your insides is the same that clutches my soul, ravages my spirits and ails my mind. I know what you feel, fellow pilgrim that I am, in this journey to nothingness. Bless your smile; my day seems better; when I laugh at the small nothings that we exchange, when I see the gray clouds gather-promising a shower, when I hear the lusty notes of a husky voice, smell the milky breath of my son, see the dirty yellow of a buxomly moon, shudder at the concupiscent touch of a teasing zephyr, I see the semblance of happiness, the illusion of Love. It is these inconsequential baubles that we must adorn, trinkets that we must wear to don the garment called Life.

Bless You.

And I am taking care.

Suji

On Thu, April 19, 2007 4:43 am, she wrote:

>

>

> Dear dear Sujatha,

>

>

> I do not why this sadness grips me , where from it comes and where it

> takes me . i do not feel like to speak any word, i want to be blind in the

> darkness of pain, deaf by the gong of time, speechless and nothing and

> nothing ........... in this world can make me happy.

>

> take care , love , S

Labels: diaries, emotions, letters, mail