Fourteen

Fourteen. Her smile as bright and clear as summer’s sky. A teenager, she still in that period of in between – not a child, yet not an adult. However, in her case, she is more childish than she supposed to be. A lot more, actually.

Fourteen, she still drawl out the “a” whenever she call Merima, Myra, Lisa or Salma. Fourteen, she still pout for a hug and wanted it constantly. Fourteen, yet sometimes she could broke in a hysterical giggles suddenly for no reason, or just hug Sokra very very tight to hide her blushing face from others. Fourteen, she still hold a grudge against Feras and see him as a jerk for he said her Beatles “suck”. Fourteen, she still like to shriek and scream and chasing after boys so she could hit them.

Fourteen, yet she haven’t yet developed a sense for fashion. Her closet is full of black, black, and more black. She prefers boy’s shirt rather than those stupid girls uniform. She love pants and trousers and shorts, and only wears dresses and skirts when it’s required (or her parents forced her to). Fourteen, she kept her hair short. Fourteen, she doesn’t know what the hell is make up and how to use a mascara. Fourteen, she thinks of high heel shoes or purses and bags as perfect weapons to hit guys.

Fourteen, she still barges into Ms. Natalie room unceremoniously and so chirpy in the morning, ready to launch into her ranting that sometimes drive people crazy. Fourteen, she loves to sit in Ms. Natalie coffee-aroma-filled room just to talk. And talk. And more talking. Fourteen, she still thinks having a boyfriend not just about hugs, holding hands and kisses, but is about having a personal slave. Fourteen, she still eats chocolate on daily basic. Fourteen, she still try to bat her eyelashes and be cute.

Fourteen, she still like him, even though he is a jerk. Fourteen, she still blush when he teased her, her eyes always sought out for him and she just seem extremely happy and giggly near him. Fourteen, she still look at him while talking to Ameer. Fourteen, she still like him a lot.

Fourteen, she is childish, he is mature. Except for the fact that he is a real nowhere man, he actually have a source of income, while all she have is a 200BD debt and a long list of books that she want. Fourteen, she is having crushes and obsessing over Paul McCartney and the Beatles, while he ranting on and on about political and philosophy and somethings that just make her head goes crazy. Fourteen, she is, and eighteen, he is. She grade 10 and he grade 12. She is worrying about doing homework and lying and he is worrying about colleges. She still clutch her teddy bear to bed and he seem more mature than his age. Fourteen, both her and him are lazy people and love chocolate. Fourteen, she always use chocolate as an excuse to give somethings to him. Fourteen, she likes him and he sees her as a friend. She loves to argue with him, just to have excuse to talk to him. She may seem mad, but her heart beats fast and her stomach flutter with butterfly. Fourteen, and she zoned out in a shop, dreaming about him and her and a prom. Fourteen, she still try to find excuse to hug him, and pout when it doesn’t go her way.

Fourteen, she have perfected her innocence mask to show others. Fourteen, she knows more than she should. Fourteen, and she start searching for a college, and try to catch a breath. Fourteen, and she thinks far more older than her age. Fourteen, she is having a Voltaire breakdown. Fourteen, and sometimes she weep at the irony of life and laugh at the ignorance of human.

Fourteen, her face still have some baby fat, and her eyes showed her innocence so clear. Fourteen, her smile as bright and clear as summer’s sky, brighter when she smile at him than at anyone else, and her head fills with 60’s rock n’ roll music.

The Fair Youth

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate(1)

 

Laughter, rang in the confined, dark hall, as clear as bell rang in the wind.

Smile, in the darkness, outshone any stars at night in the sky. Bright and clear. No one can take his eyes off thee.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see

But sweet or colour it had stol’n from thee(2)

 

Out of nowhere, you appeared in my life. If the Juliet in my dream is the Lady of the Night, then you my dear, are the Golden Sun. You are more beautiful than any goddess I have ever dream of, more charming than any heroine of mine. Thine beauty is so breathtaking, no one dare to move a single muscle in thee present, afraid they will tainted the sight. Sixteen of age, thee outshone Juliet’ s innocence, combine with a childish playfulness, the madness of Ophelia, and the cunning mind of a temptress. Oh thee, the Golden One! Words will be dry before any can describe thine exceptional beauty. Lady of Fate, why thou so cruel, bringing the Golden One, the Fair Youth into a life as dirty and as tainted as this?

A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;(3)

 

So deep and light, as like crystal, thy eyes are the ocean itself. One look, and I feel like I’m falling deeper, farther into the dangerous water of love. Thy hair were spurned from the light of the sun. It blinded one eyes with it light. Thy lips, as soft as rose petal, as red as blood on a white rose. Thy skin, as smooth as silk and ivory, oh the treasure of the world. Thy smile is as blinding as the sun, as soft and serene as the moon. Thy is the picture of the beauty of nature itself, the beauty that cannot be rival, be it the Juliet of mine, or the goddess of beauty herself. You took my breath away, stole my heart and blinded my soul. How can I again enjoy the beauty, enjoy my play when your fairness outshone them all, make then as dull and as boring as a rock compare to a rose?

Oh, Lady of Fate why thou so cruel, placing the one thing I want the most, the beauty that I admired so close to me, yet prevent me from having it?

Man are greedy, and I am no exception. Man are coward, and I can’t escape from such tragic fate. Why must I fall in love with you, and cannot have you so? Why must I have you so close, yet cannot hold you so? My body ached for you, my lips longed for your lips, my arms longed for your lithe, elegance figure. I am married, with children and a career, doing what I love, yet I don’t feel complete, unless I have you near me. Oh the Fair Youth of mine, do you understand my turmoil, my sadness so? Do you understand why I must push thee away from me, even when my hear is torment, even when all I want is to hold you close? You must understand, o dear lover of mine, that while I love you so, I can’t be with you. Our love is stronger than one of a Montague and a Capulet, our love is more tragic than any, but even with out death we can’t do anything. Our love is frowned upon this world. That’s why I must let you slip away from my fingers, let you stay so close, yet so far away. That’s why, I must turn a blinded eyes when I see you in the corner, blessing those maidens with that wonderful, soft lips of yours. That’s why, I must stray far away from the temptation you brought upon me, pretend that I never see the light of your hair or the crystal eyes of yours. That’s why…

Much steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.

And for a woman wert thou first created;

Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,

And by addition me of thee defeated,

By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.

But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,

Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure. (3)

 

 

I maybe a hypocrite, I maybe a madmen, but please, let me be. The madness I am living, is the sweetest madness of all, filled of sugar and flower fragrance. I may not have you so in my arms, but I have you so in my heart. I may not kiss you upon the lips or hold you close, but I know you love me so. Every smiles you gave me are sweeter and brighter than the sun. Every words you said to me, I hold on to every syllables with dear life. Voice so pure, so clear and high, it likes a Siren singing voice, hypnotize anyone who haven’t been defeated by your youthful beauty. This madness is poisonous to my soul and heart, yet I can’t help but fall deeper into it. Hypocrite, mad, yes I am. But at least I will be close to the one who hold the key to my heart, unwittingly and unknowingly. At least, in this dark, tainted, cruel world, where poetry and romance have been crushed under the cold heel, your bright, clear eyes will shone like the North stars, show me a way to go home, where my heart lies.

Betrayal. I am committed the greatest crime, but let it be, let it be. At least to my death bed there would be rose petals. The world is a stage, and in this world, you are my Juliet, as I would be your Romeo for eternity.

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv’d:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead(4)

 

But yet, Fate have a cruel way to play with our fragile human heart.

Tears, fall on the mud, became one with the rain.

Grime and dirt, London’s gray sky, erased the last ray of the sun.

Storms, angry wave, hide away the gentle blue ocean.

Voice, sweet and pure, now no longer sung. Lips, soft and full, now no longer open.

Red blood stained, marred the white, ivory skin. A picture of perfection. And here I thought, the death of Ophelia was beautiful, but yours is beyond compare.

My throat dried, and constrict. No tears can escaped my eyes. I looked you, at your soft, serene smile, your peaceful expression. You seem like you are in a deep sleep. Death can take your soul away, but cannot take the sweetness in your eyes, and the beauty of your youth.

So, Fate have decided, and speak her mind. I not, may have you in this world.

Like the wind, come and go. Cruelty, she befall on me. Showed me your beauty so unexpectedly, let me fall in love with with so fast, and now, just to take you away so swiftly. Without consideration, without a thought. And I am left without the key to open my heart, without the sun of my life, the ocean of my soul and the song of my life. I am left, without anything.

She took you away from me, yet even in death, she once again torment me with the beauty of yours, make me now forever remember you, remember the crime I commit and the wild passionate love. Make me now forever under your spell, unable to love another one, even if that’s my wife. One swift move, and I forever belong to yours.

Just as your beauty, will forever belong to mine.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.(1)

 

 

Wine drown one sorrow, but plunged one deeper into their own torment. Wine makes one forget, but makes one remember things vividly. The poet, the man of romance, o thee know this, yet why still do it? Wine may help you, but it will be the death of you, o the gifted one!

And so I wept, wept for a talent that forever left the surface of Earth.

It’s the year of 1616.

 

 

(1)Sonnet 18

(2)Sonnet 99

(3)Sonnet 20

(4)Sonnet 104

Italic: Lady of Fate’s thought