Letter to My Love


Syed Mustafa Ahmad
My love, I am writing to you after a long time. I hope are hale and hearty. This letter to you is to tell you that I can no longer love you. It doesn’t mean that there is lack in intensity of my love. Actually, I am not in a position to carry our relationship forward from my side. I love you like in the past. But now, I have some problems that don’t allow me to love you more.      As this is the situation, you must wonder what has happened to me that I will no longer you formally. So, I don’t want to keep you in dark. You have the liberty to choose the partner of your choice. But still I am happy that you loved me so much. You healed me when it was impossible to heal. You acted like a breeze in desert.  This is past and past hurts. I don’t want to waste your time. So, without beating around the bush, let me spill the beans.       The first is that I have no money. In today’s world, money is everything. So, without money, you cannot live. I can do anything for my survival, but for your happiness, it needs money. You like expensive dresses that I cannot buying. You change cell phones now and then. I can’t carry with it. You like picnics, but I have no money to offer to you.       The second is that I have no personality. I am a skeleton-like. From the childhood to the present, I have been working hard. So, it means that you can no longer bear with me. As it is a fact that you were ashamed if I walked with you, I can no longer make you feel humiliated. So, for your respect, I want to end my relationship.        The third is unemployment. You were happy that I might get a job till 2019. But after that when the chances of getting a job has become meagre, I thought it is better to stop and ponder over the truth. And the truth is that it is quite difficult to get a job in the present circumstances. So, I am going to end it. What is the need of loving a person who is not able to fill his stomach? You will curse your fate, if you live with me. So, I, for the sake of you, have decided to stop this journey and let you free, though you were free from the beginning. It was me who cannot think of life without you.        The fourth are your relatives. My relatives are lower than your standard. We live to eat. But you eat to live. We find it difficult to get a morsel of food while you can dream of anything. In this way, I fear that you will be humiliated, God forbid, when you would come across my relatives. So for the sake of your status, I end this relationship. For me, it is like eating a mound of poison. I am a prisoner while you are a jailer you jail people while we become prisoners.      The fifth and last is our mud house. How can you sweep dust everyday? Your bangles strike with each other to produce melodious tones in my inner graveyard. Your anklets are like a queen sleeping on lush green grass. In my home, you will feel choked. We have only one fan. Windows are less. Your adolescence increases your body temperature and I cannot afford to bring breezes for you. Breezes cost money while I have no money. We have wooden stair at my home. It has no furnishing at all. Nails are everywhere. You will get hurt and my world be devastated by storms. So, I keep you safe. You will become the queen of some prince. He will take you to Paradise. The fire of Hell will never come close to you in his presence. He will make you sleep in his fragrant arms. You will sleep peacefully on a decorated bed. While in my home, you have to sleep on the floor, where the traditional Kashmiri rug that will leave scars on your delicate skin.       With tears in my eyes, I am ending this letter. Like Masroor Sahb, I want this letter to keep on going. I know how hard it is to live without you. I know I will never sleep again. Your message used to make me sleep. But your messaged would be missed. I will be lost in the crowd. Who will find me? No, I will find myself. For your happiness, let me kill me again. I am already killed and another death won’t hurt much. I will bear. I will miss you. Why God has created poverty? I think he created poverty to test the love of the poor with the rich. For the poor, love is forbidden. After loving you, I will never love. Love is forbidden, after loving you. Love is forbidden. Long live your love! Your love, Mustafa