Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Bud


…Simple everyday events have such extraordinary beauty. The sun radiates livening warmth all day long The tall pines sway to the music of the playful winds. The scent of the soil as it drizzles on the parched earth. The little animals that graze all day long on the lush meadows …..and the evenings, when the feathered flocks fly homebound ,the crescent moon peeps up in the azure sky to lit the dark up in a dim idyllic glow….

I, of late though, was hardly noticing all this. I and my Bud were contended together. Ever since it blossomed I was preoccupied with it day in and day out. Every day I woke up not to the Sun’s bright warmth but to the glistening dew on its delicate petals. I admired not the tall swaying pines but the tender twirls of its jejune tendrils. I relished not the smell of the wet dust kicked off by the drops but the intoxication in the whiff of Bud's enamored fragrance. The ascent of the moon appealed to me no longer but my Bud’s wilting like a pliable lass at day end did lit up my nights. Time, in its enchanting company, flew by on rosy wings….

Once I, with my Bud accompanying , ambled along the great river banks. The great river whose waters meandered along swiftly. I fondly let my Bud onto the frothy white crest of the great river to watch it dance gaily on the ripples. Wobbling and swaying merrily on the swell it rode the waves as I hopped gingerly besides it. It slowly drifted away from me and into the deep waters…I panicked and cried aloud but only my wails echoed in reply. I watched as it reduced to a minute speck in the midst of the flow and then soon sank into the benthic bottoms of the great river.

I am losing you

Monday, December 7, 2009

Winter

She walked away through the tortuous path with inert steps Her lithe silhouette gradually dissolving in the dark mist that had crept in to the garden and overhung the place. The sky, at dusk, had donned a hue of trampled lilacs. At this hour the vicinity registered, apart from his grim presence, nothing but a deathly silence. Reality sank in as he waved his arm hesitatingly and tried to utter a desperate cry beseeching her to stop….but the sounds froze on his lips. The only sound that were discernible were the rustle of dry dioscorea leaves on the xanthous dessicated turf and the occasional clank of a blacksmith’s hammer pounding relentlessly on smelted cast from a distance.

A sharp north westerly swept across the plane and slapped his cheek freezing the drops that had rolled down from his eyes. He was broken, mute and rooted .A chilling darkness had ominously encroached upon the garden rendering everything that once stood bright and gleeful into obscure and stygian shadows…..Thus, some day in January ended into a bleak nightfall…Loose ends recklessly left to pine….

Winter lingered on.