40 Rules of Love

I bought this book looking at its pretty cover. That’s the thing about book hoarders, they many a times have weird reasons to add a book to the cart! After resting on the shelf for two weeks, I picked it to read. In a much despondent state as I was when I started reading, I soon got attached to it. The novel begins with the story of Ella Rubinstein and then gradually narrates the story of Shams and Rumi and their 40 rules of love. The two parallel stories that are so beautifully woven in the novel took me to distant lands of Konya and Northampton. Just as Ella finds herself deprived of love and devoid of happiness and starts reading a manuscript written by an unknown author. I , who was going through a similar crisis in my life trying to find love and happiness, happened to read this book by an author unknown to me. Most of the lines have been so relatable on days when it was necessary for me to hear them. I don't believe in magic, but it felt as if those lines were meant to be read by me on those days. I am midway through the book and I already can feel a strange connection to it just as the protagonist feels with the manuscript she reads. Is this what the author calls Sweet Blasphemy? Is this why Rumi says, "What you seek is seeking you"?

I don't know if Ella finds love at the end of the novel, I hope she does and just like her someday so do I...

As of for the book I would recommend people to read it if you are in need of an escape, in search of love or in love with poetry!

Mother

Such is my mother…
Sometimes a friend, sometimes my father.

In face of adversity, she is a careless laughter
Like on a cloudy night; a star shining brighter.

She will scold me and then cry over it,
Sometimes bitter but mostly sweet.

She says,
"I am with you, get up and give a fight",
On the darkest days, she is my flashlight.

A warm blanket on a cold winter,
Such is my mother…

Expression

They speak, scream and yell making me feel guilty,
I cry , whimper and cower in the corner thinking I am faulty.

Their words pierce through my soul like a shrapnel,
Mind stops working,
Body sweats and I can't stop shivering.

Then the mind starts playing a game,
Trying to reason my thoughts and finding something to blame.
I think to myself,
Why am I like this?
Was the situation at fault or something that I missed?

I am not able to answer their questions,
Almost stunted by a flood of emotions.
I want to explain but my words defy me,
Instead of help they turn up against me.

So I run to my room in search of some privacy,
And with an intent to soothe myself, I write poetry.