Epitaph

 A sunny afternoon

my notebook on top of the box on top of my bed

while noting down my thoughts about history and home

I was humming along with Lewis Capaldi 

“I just wanna be somebody to someone”

I don’t know if it was the sun

my right-on-track notes

the track playing on my headphones

or the words that Capaldi sang so beautifully

I was swaying so much in sheer happiness

that my handwriting seemed like it just came back

from chasing a butterfly that had no sense of direction

but soon after my playlist decided to move on to the next song

I stopped swaying

not because Capaldi’s song stopped

but because the song started something inside me

I realized that I was humming the wrong lyrics all along

Or was it really wrong?

I just wanna be somebody for someone

That, that was what I was humming

I just wanna be somebody for someone

not “I just wanna be somebody to someone”

I wasn’t singing along

I was singing my own song

I wasn’t only swaying to Capaldi’s beautiful words

but aligning with my own desires

I want to be somebody for someone

a (comforting) space probably 

a (peaceful) time 

a (happy) memory 

a moment (to cherish)

(loving) eyes 

(embracing) arms 

(selfless) love 

(safe) place 

 I want to be all those things and more if possible

to those who think they don’t deserve love

to those who just need a hand to come out of darkness

to those who just need someone to listen to them

to those who have never tasted freedom

and only need "a someone" to believe they can fight for it

wait, did I just find what I was looking for?

did I just realize what I want to do with my life?

did I just unveil why I am alive?

what meaning my life has?

guess what? 

just when I was in a daze 

drunk in drips of this moment of epiphany

I witnessed a surreal happening 

the universe professed its love for me

a cloud shaped like a heart

my very own blue and white heart

the universe has its own way of giving back, doesn’t it?

that too when it's least expected

this led me to write a letter, a note maybe…

to writer Atticus

Dear Atticus,

May I borrow your lines for my epitaph? And while requesting, may I also have the audacity to request to modify it a lil bit? 

“I hope to arrive at my death

Late,

In love,

And a little drunk”

BEAUTIFUL WORDS Mr. Atticus. Here's what my epitaph would say instead:

I arrived at my death

Late, 

In love 

And quite drunk.

I hope you won't mind Mr. Atticus.

Sincerely,

A poet in love

 

 

 Picture: An open sky, taken by Piu Chowdhury