A Place Where Love is Born, Fed, Brought up & Shed By Khadija Farrukh

A place by Khadija Farrukh

A place by Khadija Farrukh[dropcap]A[/dropcap] place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where colors are brighter, where sounds are clearer, where sights are more obvious, where smells are more familiar.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place of freedom and bliss, where the self is nurtured in the wildest of care, where dreams are made with sudden dares, where life learns flight, where wings are broken down.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place soaked with unknown familiarity, drenched in forgotten yearnings, pregnant with mystical myths, it is a place where every detail is known to be known for, and every door is opened to be closed….

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where history echoes in every corner, those laughter are still held in the air,  those shrieks are still somewhere, under the sky and above the earth, is a place where spirits live under the stairs, and man in the painting constantly stares.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where stars are above watching, an unknown audience, watching every move, sometimes delighted and sometimes gloomy, where air around is rejoicing over the arrival of springs,  where flowers were brought to be drooped, where dreams were made to be doomed.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed Is the place of various languages, chilies, and wheat flour. Where that tea strain is still somewhere speaking of its story, those dust grains pushed to the corners are still waiting for their trial, where secrets are still their under the hollow space between the cabinets,  where secrets long forgotten are still prevailing.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where lizards have lain eggs, where ants parade under the hedge, where doors once creaked, where windowpane were broken down, where autumn brought dried leaves, and storms brought layers of dust, spring brought flowers of rejoicing, where winters were passed beside the fire, where waiting was once the only option.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place where emotions are not vague, where music is also made, where guitars are played, where the songs once sung stay. It is a place where toys are brought to be broken down, where secrets were hidden to be forgotten, where care was once taken to be deserted, where attentions were once given to be forgotten, where the footprints are still the evidences of crimes done, and broken dolls are the memory of rooms once decorated.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where fairy tales are still fabulous, where the prince went away from the backyard and never came back, and the princes cried behind the guava tree, where the deserts produced flowers, and gardens produced thorns, where nature was reversed, were rules were turned, where loved one cried and the devil rejoiced.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where angels sat on the shoulders, and prayers were offered at the top most attic, where walls were climbed, were mischief were dealt with, where love was offered some day, and rejection was the fate the other day.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where foundations were laid, and doubts were born. Where insecurity crept within, where darker truths faded away, where conscience is clear and the soul is at bay.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place where mud was once played with, where gardens were once maintained, where mud was left to become dust, where gardens were left to be destroyed, where honor was kept above all, and idols were thrashed into parts, where stories were stolen thousands of, where trusts were broken many times.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where habits developed, where intimacy prevailed, where silence speaks of those weeping souls, where opening of windows brought joyful news.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where small details are still untouched, where small realities are still unraveled, where that unknown corner is waiting for centuries to be discovered, where God of small things is still a picture of no recognition.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where the trunks are still locked, and gutters are still blocked, where the books are dusty for years, where pages are still to be turned, where familiarity has crept deep into the unknown, where surprises are gone away to stray, where there is no cause, where there is no awe, where everything is boring and soul is bounded.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place where future was dreamed, and present was lived, and past was gotten. It is a place of nostalgia and of past, of mystical paths and mythical pavements, where drama was tragic and the audience was awestruck.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place as soft as the cradle of mother, as secure as arms of a lover, as regretful as thorns of the past, as painful as the memory that lasts.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place with different destinations where love has always been enough for us to hate, go away, and eventually come back. Where love has always been enough to let us leave. The place where everyone belongs, a place safe as home, a place called home.

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