I stare at it, once, twice,
I hear it's loud and wounded cries,
I laugh at it all, all of it,all,
And smile as I see that cloud fall."
I hear it's loud and wounded cries,
I laugh at it all, all of it,all,
And smile as I see that cloud fall."
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
The Boy Who Loved a Wall
Indifference.
With blurry eyes, the boy picked up the flower, and threw it again.
Indifference- cold, dark indifference.
The ground, moist now, let out a whisper, a cry, asking him to give up.
And he looked on.
He was a normal kid. He had dreams, smiles, and a lot of memories- good and bad. He had good friends, good parents. But there was always a disconnect he felt with the world, for he always sought to find someone, someone who could and would never leave him. That person would be the start and end of his world, the world that sometimes threw stones at him, mocked him for his gentleness, and despised his empathy for life. He wrote letters, made messages in bottles, and dreamed of the day he’d meet that person. In that person he saw his best friend, accomplice, confidant, and everything he solely needed.
One day, as he passed the street he always went by, he saw a dark unseen passage. He’d always gone that way, and yet had never noticed that alley. He put his foot on the dark shadow that was cast by the boundaries of the alley, and a chill ran up his spine.
He was mesmerised by the fear he had of walking down that path. He walked into the depths of the darkness and silence that lay hidden in the path ahead. For a while he didn’t see a soul. And at the end of the tunnel of darkness he saw light, a small glimmering sheen of light.
He ran to it and saw, to his awe, a wall.
It stood there, motionless, strong. It was probably a normal brick wall, but to him, it had the magnificence of a mountain, and the beauty of the night. He stood there, staring at it, and he knew he’d found that person.
He spent days talking to it- laughing, singing to it, sharing his problems with it, sometimes using its shoulder for comfort. Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and he realised he was falling for the wall. He wanted to be with the wall, build a house around it, and spend his dying years in its comfort. He wanted the wall to be there in his life, forever, instead of rotting away in the valley it had gotten used to.
And he spoke to the wall about a new life, a new world. His world. He brought a flower and kept it by the light- a red rose, red for it resembled the colour of his best ever companion. He spoke of his dreams, his home, his plans, his future, and the life he had dreamed of. He spoke for hours and hours. And then.
He looked at it for a response.
Indifference.
He asked for a response, and yet, nothing.
With blurry eyes, the boy picked up the flower, and threw at it again.
Indifference- cold, dark indifference.
The ground, moist now, let out a whisper, a cry, asking him to give up.
He tried to walk away, but the darkness and the pain he could see in the wall kept him staring at it, with fascination.
With love.
And he looked on.
Years have passed. People pass by, absorbed in the normalcy of their lives, as any other day. Some people who’ve passed by the dark pathway complain that it’s damp and moist now.
Some even say they can hear a muffled sob from its depths.
The sob of a boy, the boy who loved a wall.
With blurry eyes, the boy picked up the flower, and threw it again.
Indifference- cold, dark indifference.
The ground, moist now, let out a whisper, a cry, asking him to give up.
And he looked on.
He was a normal kid. He had dreams, smiles, and a lot of memories- good and bad. He had good friends, good parents. But there was always a disconnect he felt with the world, for he always sought to find someone, someone who could and would never leave him. That person would be the start and end of his world, the world that sometimes threw stones at him, mocked him for his gentleness, and despised his empathy for life. He wrote letters, made messages in bottles, and dreamed of the day he’d meet that person. In that person he saw his best friend, accomplice, confidant, and everything he solely needed.
One day, as he passed the street he always went by, he saw a dark unseen passage. He’d always gone that way, and yet had never noticed that alley. He put his foot on the dark shadow that was cast by the boundaries of the alley, and a chill ran up his spine.
He was mesmerised by the fear he had of walking down that path. He walked into the depths of the darkness and silence that lay hidden in the path ahead. For a while he didn’t see a soul. And at the end of the tunnel of darkness he saw light, a small glimmering sheen of light.
He ran to it and saw, to his awe, a wall.
It stood there, motionless, strong. It was probably a normal brick wall, but to him, it had the magnificence of a mountain, and the beauty of the night. He stood there, staring at it, and he knew he’d found that person.
He spent days talking to it- laughing, singing to it, sharing his problems with it, sometimes using its shoulder for comfort. Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and he realised he was falling for the wall. He wanted to be with the wall, build a house around it, and spend his dying years in its comfort. He wanted the wall to be there in his life, forever, instead of rotting away in the valley it had gotten used to.
And he spoke to the wall about a new life, a new world. His world. He brought a flower and kept it by the light- a red rose, red for it resembled the colour of his best ever companion. He spoke of his dreams, his home, his plans, his future, and the life he had dreamed of. He spoke for hours and hours. And then.
He looked at it for a response.
Indifference.
He asked for a response, and yet, nothing.
With blurry eyes, the boy picked up the flower, and threw at it again.
Indifference- cold, dark indifference.
The ground, moist now, let out a whisper, a cry, asking him to give up.
He tried to walk away, but the darkness and the pain he could see in the wall kept him staring at it, with fascination.
With love.
And he looked on.
Years have passed. People pass by, absorbed in the normalcy of their lives, as any other day. Some people who’ve passed by the dark pathway complain that it’s damp and moist now.
Some even say they can hear a muffled sob from its depths.
The sob of a boy, the boy who loved a wall.
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