Going up, coming down, the stone steps remain the same.
[Source – Pixabay]

Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.

Simone Weil

Stone steps lead up to a place I am yet to see. Dealing with the quietness interrupted intermittently by sweet songs of the birds, I continue ahead. My mind usher some unwanted thoughts and force me to dwell on and on and on, until I refuse, pause and take a deep breath. Don’t inquire for I don’t know why I am smiling, but I am and it has opened the collection of happy memories. Beaming face feels like being in an ocean of flowers. I start knitting happy thoughts with the golden thread of dreams and everything seems possible, the world is mine. A castle is constructed, my reign flourishes in seconds and in seconds I see my downfall. When I gather the broken pieces and stand up, I see the stone steps staring at me. No dialogues are exchanged, and I continue ahead.

I wake up, and then I don’t think much of this dream. I am already late to rush into my monotonous routine. The running time never bargains while I always find a reason to… though haven’t cracked a deal even once.

The whole day I critique myself, like a ritual, except when the dream hushes me-the-perfect and me-the-kind takes over.

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Black Sparrow

Her eyes… there is fear in her eyes.

It was blurry… but I remember it clearly. Old hands like my mother’s but she wasn’t my mother, then why do I see her? The place is cold and that is how I feel until I look at her, I feel cold and wet as if I didn’t run away from that day’s hard rain. Everything around was cold and wet that day and so was it in my dream. That day when I was strolling in the park I saw a black sparrow… Francis said he would rather be a black sparrow than fight in the war. I saw the black sparrow, and I left the park.

She is sitting on a wheel chair, she is wearing black. Today, when I picked up the burnt paper, I crushed it without knowing why; my hands can still feel the smooth blackness. But she was surrounded by a harsh blackness, she was in the sun, but everything was crude and dull. I hate myself for crushing the burnt paper, I can feel the crude blackness now.

Francis collected stones all the time, he had strange hobbies. Stones he said are beautiful unless we give them a shape. The old lady, someone’s mother, had an image in her eyes; a dull face as if sculpted, and I agreed with Francis that it looked utterly dead. It scares me every time I see the dream.

I am there to help you old lady. Who is it that you are holding in your eyes? What are you whispering? I can’t hear you? She isn’t looking at me Francis, she is looking somewhere else. Francis I can’t see you. I can’t see the black sparrow. I am tied to the dream. I see her eyes Francis… her eyes… there is fear in her eyes.

Dream And Reality

She was sitting and doing nothing. The usual was happening. She wasn’t working and her mind wasn’t stopping.

Oh! All the noise around her irked her. Still, she kept still. In her mind, a slide show was playing time and again.

Images after images; her friends, her family, her dog, the food she loved and her favourite white dress that was still in the shop and the green lawn.

She didn’t stop the slide show, maybe there was a switch to it or maybe not.

This happened with her a lot and so she didn’t bother about it anymore. At that moment, her mind got overpowered by an image and she observed it.

The image showed a pond with many dry leaves floating in it. Green colour was prominent; green trees, green sky, green earth and green water.

Finally, she was with her mind. She touched the green water and saw the ripples with love in her eyes. When the ripples disappeared, she saw her face in the green water.

Without wasting much time she immersed herself in the water. It was soothing. She saw a sea of pink flowers and tried to get hold of one.

In less than a second she was in that sea of pink flowers. She wasn’t swimming, but the pink flowers were taking her along. She accepted them.

What seemed like infinity to her passed and she saw a white light coming through the pink flowers. The sea of pink flowers started disappearing while she stared at the white light.

She had to swim herself now. She was slow as the white light faded away and she couldn’t reach it. She was swimming on the same spot in an ocean of black space.

She felt as if she was dangling there when suddenly a strong thud woke her up.

Same seat, same table and some more files welcomed her back. She looked around and saw that no one had noticed her.

Life was the same.

Sea of pink lotuses.
Image by CryptoSkylark from Pixabay

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The Run

[Image by Jagriti Rumi; place – Dhenkanal, Odisha]

The trouble was near

And I could hear

Songs and shouts like

An old leaked mike;

The dance of the dead,

A wobbly white head,

Smiling bones hanging high,

Not at all shy,

Revels without a reason,

‘It is our season!’

They looked at me,

The key lost me,

I turned to run,

Spot running isn’t fun.

Funny dream I left,

Lights on, I slept.

See-ya reader! Ha-aaa haaa haaa!
[Image by Jagriti Rumi; place – Dhenkanal, Odisha]

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