far from you

I must have been born to you at least three years ago. From that point in time i have been exposed to all those times you have been through, sometimes longing for some freedom and at other times cherishing the care you took of me. I was born to a world full of dark long strings; i rarely knew i was just one among them. I never had those beautiful lips or the palms you do. I was just a long thin string who was supposed to lie down there to protect your scalp. For the first time when i realised that i was nothing more than a part of the huge bunch of strings surrounding me, the desire to live on and grow faded away somehow. Perhaps I was just another thread in the jungle and what difference could i possibly make. It was till this day when things changed.

Before this every morning used to be mundane, of course the fresh water touched me every time you took your daily bath. I didn’t much like the genX medicinal shampoos you used. They perhaps made sense to you but for me the taste was so bitter. I hated it or sometime till i adapted to it. My neighbours the other hairs told me once that it was supposed to be good for my health. Same goes for the sticky oil which you used sometime. I hardly recognize the brands, the way you know them. Neways, this morning was the same but i felt a soothing touch as the comb touched me gently each time. A number of questions came in, one being "is your mind occupied with something else" for you aint as hurting and fast as every other day. Never got an answer. A few hours later, as you explored some force entangled me with my friend’s moments before i was uprooted from your head. I was kind of lucky to bypass a hard fall for there was no wind. You rolled over me without ever knowing it was me. Perhaps I was too small for your beautiful eyes. I loved as I watched you smiling freely as never before. But for me I was to fall alone with an uncertain fate over the white sheet which covered the base.

I was scared of being picked up by some maid and pushed away into the dustbin which would further take me to a dumping ground the graveyard. Scared to shit for the short life i had. Jealous about the rest of my friends for they had the advantage of being with you... They were still. How unfortunate, i wondered for a while before I was picked up. Luckily it was not the maid but someone else. This being did enclose me in a piece of white paper, suffocated me. The being placed me inside the dark huge baggage. That was the last time i saw you. Fear and uncertainty kept on growing. The will to survive decreased as the time ticked. What can i possibly do without you, your hair, without your head? I would perhaps miss you for the remaining time, without you ever knowing about me. But then hope remains. A hope of meeting you again and expressing what it feels to be far away. I miss your touch, the comb. I miss my graceful look and pride as they looked at me each time they saw you and admired your beauty. I felt I was your very own.

My dear, far from you I am at a place I have no idea of. I am wrapped inside the rules of a paper, captured by someone as I continue living. I will continue living in this wrapped box stuffed inside the dark wallet but every time I try to breathe and live the question of 'does anything make sense anymore? does life make sense anymore?' peeks in ... if only I had an answer ... I am that piece of your long cared hair, which had grown long enough with you. For now it won’t continue to grow anymore. The growth has ceased. However it would live and live with a continued longing to be with ... you. Suddenly the life has started making sense and the urge to live which had faded away has turned into something i cant express...