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It's just salty form of water, I know that's what everybody thinks. That “everybody” includes me too, And that fib really stinks. Joy and sorrow both are reasons for bawling, But every time we end up creating a river. Our tears are our like watery arrows, And the eyes form a single quiver. Sometimes we don't recognize why others are sobbing, And sometimes we are not even concerned. I just wanna say that's extremely inhuman, How will you feel if the wheels get turned? We sob if we don't win that goldfish in that silly lottery, We weep if lose a match in fortnite. But these aren't the puniest snags, If compared to the problems of people who are in the real fight.

An oasis in the desert… A drop of water in the hot, silver-white sands in the Arabian desserts. That is what you were to me when we crossed our paths in the Sultanate, thousands of miles away from our homes. You were 13 years my junior when we met. I was married, and you were not. We took solace and comfort in each other's company since we felt alone and unhappy in the environment that we had to work to earn petro-dollars for our respective families at home. It was pure agape (Platonic love). We could have been otherwise, but weren't. We both knew and felt that what we had was as good as it could get, and would be ruined by anything “too intimate” or "more and further”. Love is something inexplicably, indescribably wonderful, bound intricately with life. There may be nothing strictly ordinary as such. At the same time, there never may be something unique as such in this whole world. It should be the strong desire to feel being loved and to experience love that is the last thing a person may find impossible to forego when all else has been lost or abandoned with ease. No matter what social status we enjoy, what station of life we are in, we need love. People tend to do many things for the sake of love which they would have never done under normal circumstances. We do not need lofty things in love. Sometimes things like strolling aimlessly hand in hand on a deserted street, whispering sweet nothings in a quiet beach on a moonlit night, a shoulder to lean on to at least for a moment without fear or suspicion in times of distress, to share ideas about life in a very matured chat, etc. are some of the things that we desire in love. I remember some verses in a song that goes something like this … I have not built sand castles about you, Nor do I entertain any misgivings about you. I will never lay claim to your life, And will not feel angry when and if you belong to someone else. This comes as a very advanced take on the type of love I speak of. The lyricist goes on to say that “don't you ever shed a single drop of tear because of me. Let us agree that we will be lovers that would never unite in life.” Love does not mean to imprison someone within limits and boundaries marked by the other, or anyone else for that matter, but something that transcends beyond that and something that has free reins. Another lyricist, comparing his lover to a star in the distant sky, says, “You be where you are and I will be where I am.” He means to say that you are a star in the distant sky and I am a person living on earth. But you stay where you are, as you are, and I will stay where I am, as I am. The common thing that is binding us together is the empty space between us. You cannot come down to earth from the sky. If that happens, may be I will lose you, and we will lose this moment. Hence you better stay where you are whereas I will stay where I am, watching you. All you have to do is stay put where you are. You don't have to keep saying that you love me. No need to keep reminding about it as if we will forget it. Sometimes, love exists where the words “I love you” are not uttered at all. The problem arises when we try to frame that love and come to terms with accepted social standards. In any bond, there is a point beyond which the bonding loses the tenacity. Hence, in a far-off country, in an unknown city and amongst unknown people, two ‘different' like-minded persons bereft of any kind of ‘love' would have many things to share, wouldn't they? Is it strange and wrong, then, for them to become so close but so far in love and find comfort in each other's warmth? If not for this bonding, the two-year work contract period would have been a hell on earth for both of us. I don't think that you will doubt for a moment that the story of a remarkably beautiful and much younger unmarried woman's brief and circumstantial friendship with a very middle aged and married man is far-fetched. It really happened to me, some 25 years ago. I still remember vividly the day I left her for home. That day, I realized how powerful the platonic love was. The rivulets of tears she shed on my shoulders soaked my shirt so hard that even the almost three-hour flight time back home wasn't enough to dry it completely. It was the day I realized how much tears a person can shed in one go. And that cemented my opinion on how powerful true love, though platonic, could be. I was a middle-aged man who recognized and did what was proper to my station in life with regard to a much younger, very attractive woman fate had put in my path. I never doubt that she would ever forget me too, and I always believe that she loved me as much as it would have been possible for her to do so. Although we have not seen each other after we parted ways, I still cherish that memory and still love her platonically.

The smoke burned my nose and eyes as I sat barefoot on the small alleyway behind our house. I was shaking, my small hands clenched together in fear as my mother stared at me, eyes filled with a concoction of emotions. She sat with her back up against the front of the red minivan as she started on another cigarette. As she flicked away the glowing embers, I noticed her hands were also trembling. I think about moments before. My mother had burst into my bedroom, I witnessed a side of her I had never seen before she began screeching about how she didn't want me anymore. How much trouble I had caused her and that she was bringing me back to my father's house. To cast me from her life forever. I could feel my heart crumbling in upon itself and before I realized what was happening I flew down the stairs and out the door. I had no inkling about where I was going, especially without any shoes. Yet, I raced down the block, my phone in hand poised to call anyone that could be of aid, my heart was pounding and my face streaked with tears. Around the corner, I saw mother whisking the minivan down the street approaching me. I panicked hoping for the opportunity to flee or hide. I did neither. Instead, stood frozen in the middle of some stranger's yard. She took the corner hard and I heard the distinct screech of the tires as Mom stopped the van next to the curb getting out of the car. She rushed towards me in a flurry of hatred, gripping my arms, pulling me towards the van violently. My body was racked with sobs as I mustered the strength to try and resist her grip when she finally pushed me into the car, I could do nothing but wail in the back seat. We drove off, stopping in the parking lot of a run down drug store. My mind was ablaze with the understanding that my own mother wanted to be rid of me, relinquishing me to my father, never to see my siblings again. My mother doesn't want me and that she might have finally lost it. My mother doesn't want me. My mother doesn't want me. It played over and over again and soon I began to say these words aloud. Could she really discard of me easily? Had our relationship had always been shallow, strictly on the surface? What I did know was the there was no going back to a normal "mother and daughter" relationship. Maybe a new barrier that could never be broken down. Coming back from the store, I was jerked from my thoughts when mom opened up the car door and a new package of cigarettes. Lighting her cancer stick she sat, dragging in her calming poison and I began to scream. Telling her that if she left me I would never want to come back, but she remained silent. I never stopped crying for a second to tell her how terrified I actually was. The panic that she was going to bring me back to my father's house. To the place where I would have to explain why I had no shoes, why I couldn't stop blubbering, why I would never see my mother again. For several minutes we sat there in the weed-infested parking lot. Her cigarette smoke was beginning to infecting the air outside of the van. And without even so much as a glance over the shoulder at me, she began driving back towards the yellow house. I was taken aback when she turned into the driveway and put the car in park. Still shocked that she actually brought me back to the house I had no idea what to do. I got out of the van, through the still wide open door and up the stairs to my room. There I sat on the bed, my arms wrapped around my legs as I began to shiver. I rocked myself back and forth to sooth the emotions that stirred within me. Minutes passed when suddenly I heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. I knew it was mother, but that didn't stop me from flinches at every step she took in my direction. She told me to come outside with her, and I did. There we were. I listened to her sorry attempt to apologize, her explanation about the contents of a letter. A letter that told her of the amounts of money she had to pay to my father; a child support bill that drove her to near madness. But to me, I saw it as where my mother would rather choose money over her own child. To her, it was the thing that induced overwhelming emotion that took control and made her execute such rash actions. Could we ever go back to where we had been in our relationship? Of course, things never meant to be said, but maybe they were things that had always been thought. I said nothing but remained stationary, sitting on the ground. My feet raw from running, the dry dead grass scratching at the bottom of my thighs. Attempting to understand her position and reasoning. After she stopped she asked me: “Could you ever forgive me?” my mother voice shook violently on the verge of tears. My eyes were dry, my body drained, my soul empty. I embraced her and said nothing, worrying whether or not the end of the cigarette in her hand was going to burn me.