[Source – a Hindi novel’s book cover; image by Jagriti Rumi]
Deep eyes for whom are you waiting? You look like a forgotten painting hanging high on a wall of an old chalet. I wish to talk to you…come alive; the mortal world needs a touch of your beauty. Just for a few minutes or even a second will do…come alive.
A blink of your eyes might melt million hearts; your smile could dance in the darkness and glow. Lost in the hazy splendour, talk to us once or make a gesture.
Hypnotising colours that you are adorned with has the power of bringing serenity. Share some with me; one shade of it in my life and I’ll be seen flying without wings.
Surely you are waiting for someone but what is the pleasure in it? A beloved resides in your mind or… a question?
The elegance in you speaks for you. It says you know the answer and that you are just playing Life.
Are you happy to be a pretty curse? I dreamt you are. Clever!
I am capturing your colours as much as my eyes can discern, your elegance as much as my mind knows and your love as much as my heart can hold.
You have made house in many souls and though you go on living many lives, you know that your wait is not over. You know peace, but you are waiting for it to complete.
Sitting by the window and watching the wind do its customary dance, Kent wrote a line in his diary and stopped. The line said, ‘I failed again.’ Dry leaves and twigs joined the wind hesitatingly…a bit shy but tending. Kent took a sip of his hot coffee. He flailed the pen in his hand and then began to write-
Again. I try and then I fail. I wonder how I have reached so far when all I can do is to fail. I sink low every time and it becomes difficult to make a comeback. The sympathy, the taking my side, the hiding my faults…I hate when people do this to me. It hurts me more. But I am the reason of the burden I am carrying.
After another sip, Kent again checked the rendition. He couldn’t hear it clearly but was sure about the charming song that the wind played. Huge trees rhymed along, they were so great yet so modest; nature knows some marvellous secrets that make it awe-inspiring.
I have nothing to say anymore. I wish I could visit Mrs Graceland’s house, the backyard and the trail that led to the jungle and the brook with leaves and twigs wafting in it.
If only I could sit there for some time alone. My heart would pour itself in the brook and I am positive that I could then breathe without feeling the knots. The jungle, the brook they don’t know that I have failed. They will not demand any answers nor will they console me. I will be with them and they’ll welcome me.
But with time things start eluding and you feel silent, empty and helpless; a mere bystander.
Kent’s sigh sounded heavy and blue. He searched for something in his room and finding it his eyes rested upon it; a wall clock that made him conscious and humble. He lost himself for some time. Coming back he looked at his diary and wrote-
I think I have failed in putting my thoughts in words. I am sorry dear diary. I think I should just stop writing and….
*
A green leaf in autumn. [Image by Jagriti Rumi]
At this moment he found a leaf knocking on his window. He stared for few minutes waiting for it to fly away but it didn’t. He stretched his hand reluctantly and opened the window.
Taking the leaf in his hand Kent watched the scene and without waiting for his permission the wind touched his face and made his hair dance. A smile came on his face naturally.
The power of the wind amazed him, the music enthralled him; he could feel the spirit, the liveliness that was abundant in nature. Peeking through his window Kent stood for long in that position unaware of the clock, the pen, the diary, the leaf and himself.
It was getting dark. He forced himself to shut the window. With nature you don’t know when the time passes and if you happen to know you wish it to go slow.
Sitting back on his chair and before he could finish his diary entry, he examined the leaf in his hand. It was green. It was autumn. It was a message. Life loves to live. Who loves life lives…happily.
Kent finished his diary entry.
I can’t believe myself but I am going to try again, maybe I’ll fail again. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never stop walking because I never know what is there for me on the next turn. I am going to die one day, I don’t want to die before that.
Cheers to the green leaf!
Kent
And now, listen to Vashti Bunyan’s album Just Another Diamond Day, this is one of Kent’s favourite tracks, one that he listened to after finishing his diary entry –
Charlie was a happy kid but his shoes were sad. The shoes weren’t wrong to feel so you know, because they were badly torn. White was their initial colour but now they looked dull brown and dirty green. Charlie loved the shoes; he loved everything, especially food. Most of the time, i.e. 93% to be precise, he had food thoughts like about a cupcake or a milkshake, a chocolate or a marmalade, or a lime pie perhaps. The other 7% he gave to the rest of the world that talked to him. Hence, Charlie lived in his tasty world and enjoyed it immensely.
That day while he was going to the school it started to rain. Charlie didn’t miss a single puddle on the way, making his trousers and shoes wet. The trousers were fine but the shoes weren’t. The water entered the shoes and soaked both Charlie’s socks and his feet. The shoes thought them to be a failure; after all they couldn’t protect the feet from getting wet. But Charlie didn’t know about remorse, rather he was relishing the sound that was coming from the wet shoes – ‘Puchuk Puchuk’.
Charlie had brought bread and jam that day for the lunch break and his mind was stuck with the wonderful image of the bread and jam (complementing each other so well). He had no intention to attend any class before the lunch break. Luckily his wish was almost granted. First of all he was punished in the assembly for wearing dirty shoes, which meant at least a ten minute late entry in the class. This was huge for Charlie. Nothing much happened in the first four periods that allowed Charlie to be out of the class, except twice for the toilet break. But his wet shoes took all his concentration from whatever the teachers were teaching and he never realised how the time passed.
Sometimes he was busy in making sounds ‘Puchuk Puchuk’ and make his bench mate laugh along or else he got himself involved in opening the shoes and removing the socks, then laughing at his pink wrinkled feet; then again wasting time in wearing them back. Oh! Time rushed quickly for Charlie, this is not a tough task for Time. It rushes…as if it’ll miss a train.
Back to Charlie, who is now eating his lunch. His eyes close every time he takes a bite. A delightful moment for Charlie, a fulfilment, a never forgetting instant. And the shoes are also not sad anymore. They are dried up and ready for a walk or even a run.
It’s time to go mad, I told myself. The world looks best through the eyes of the mad.
Even history tells us so. But it’s not more about the world than it is about myself. I have seen right into the eyes of the mirror and all that is visible is a question mark.
Now I’ll check it when I am upside down, if nothing, I’ll at least enjoy the inverted me.
I’ll fly from now onwards, at least I’ll fall. I’ll follow the bird and visit its nest. I’ll keep a secret diary and make sure that it leaks.
Secrets are good only until they are not kept otherwise they are dull dead details yawned away by themajority.
I’ll rub the window clean with my hands so that the dirt makes my skin shine in black.
I’ll spin round and round and stop; I’ll shout loudly and then add a whisper to it; I’ll befriend the thorns and love the cuts…. Is it too much?
What is too much? Do you know it? Who knows it? No one!
That’s the real fact we forget. So why not find it out, by ourselves. Yes!
If not now than when…waiting for another life to do all that we dream about? That’s a strange fantasy to believe in.
Because you are not given new wings in the next life, you carry on with what you already own.
This almost endless journey needs a mad soul…mad for the goal.
That’s why I will go mad, I need this energy drink to drive me forward. I’ll hear no one, I’ll not act anymore, I’ll just be present.
I’ll just be present… and also attend Mad Hatter’s tea-party. Image by Clker from Pixabay
I am a pen. I write. I decorate the paper with various styles. Recently I did some cursive work and believe you me it was fantastic. I can write about anything one can and cannot imagine. Mostly I deal with feelings, a heavy range. From love, anger and joy to dark, bizarre and alien. I find myself busy when topics like nature, god, politics and business are discussed.
I have been wondering for some time now about questions. Umpteenth questions come across when I am put to paper. Millions of them and some are very common like, what should I do, why is this happening, why me, how can he/she do this to me, where is god etc. I don’t like questions anymore, not because of the sudden increase in their number but because most are left unanswered. Just imagine how I feel with endless questions staring at my face along with that twisted question mark.
Oh! I have a question now…where are all the answers?
Anyways, my job is not that bad. In reality, I adore my work. Maybe that’s why I know calmness. I have good, light moments; I happily keep a secret a secret; meeting every emotion is in itself a great reward for me; I get to know a whole lot of things, you know science things. What I really-really relish is when I scribble and make faces on the margin of a sheet or the last page of a copy. I get a feeling at that moment of being with someone else, a connection, shared exclusively with me. Like I am in a vacuum with a confused mind or a happy smile or an angry look or a scared soul or a naughty remark and this gives me wings to fly.
Ha! Funny me!
I don’t know when I may dry, on which word, which feeling, so I keep my spirits up almost always as I already said I never know….
The sun was fiery, it was a blazing fire. And the path was fiery. The moon was serene, it was peaceful. And the path was peaceful. The trees canopied the earth, it knew all the secrets. And the path knew the secrets. The rivulet played music, it amplified the magic. And the path was magical. The soil was alive, it was the love of the plants. And the path felt the love too.
The traveller was walking on this path, barefooted. His feet could feel the path. The wind was also telling him something. The music he heard was intoxicating. Trees above him silently told him to stay, relish the hidden secret, because what is hidden could be found. He agreed and changed his path. A rough fresh path took him deep in the forest. He settled in the lap of a gigantic tree.
Lush greenery tickled him, relaxed him, and made him quiet. Time was moving but he had no knowledge of it. With eyes closed he was slowly seeping into the life around him. He could now feel their pulse. Some creepers were crawling on him. He was ignorant of it and soon was at bliss. The nature took over him. He became one with the nature – green, thriving, beautiful and tranquil.
A day came when he was overwhelmed to such an extent that his third eye opened. It spread a ray that was fiery, serene, quiet, magical, alive and full of love. That day his body became dust and we know nothing else as words, language and intellect falls short when magnificence takes birth.
I saw a beautiful little flower on the road. The wind must have brought it on my way. It was crushed by someone and was faded yellow.
Extremely beautiful and what a smile.
Saying hello to me it beamed. I couldn’t resist my curiosity and straightaway asked it about its amazing colour…the depth of the faded colour had seeped in me.
I, somehow, could feel the faded colour, I was arrested by the colour.
Smiling again it said, ‘because of your eyes’. I didn’t understand the reply but I too smiled.
I was influenced, captured and enlivened by the faded colour of the yellow flower.
Smooth, dull, faded magic touched my heart. Its lightness entered me. I was with kindness, love and serenity.
The encounter was of a split second but the little crushed faded yellow flower left me beautified…forever.
Only when I saw it with the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park
I never ever knew time
Jumping, crying, laughing, assuming
Truth is, I always knew time
I just never felt it
Until now
Haiku
I am joy running free/
freely flying, fluttering, soaring in a valley/
Of joy am running free.
Greetings!
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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