Monday, January 9, 2012

Leftovers


7th January 2012

Vast expanses now filled with colours so many, of flowers shouting of perpetual happiness. Not the best day of his life, for more are to come, holding promises no one can yet foresee... however the beauty is yet unmatched, envious to the most dazzling bride, to the starlit sky and even the rain. But he can see, hidden under this magnificence, there are the leftovers of that night.

Little does anyone know but him about the storm that stopped by. Caught him by surprise, or a trick so common? Unprepared, he hung on through the night, so he could catch just a glimpse of daylight in sometime. The day came, so did the patch-ups... here and there and there too. Everywhere... the brokens were mended, shattered dusted, fallen collected, lost looked for... the land of flowers, bare, torn down stared him in the eyes...do you dare? He did, and now the flowers let it forget that night.

The colours struggle to preserve their beauty under the unending fight with the dominance of that which is white...for it conceals, and doesn’t clean anything away, the nothingness is an illusion. Starting afresh is a deception, continuance and consequences follow, and go on as if to time without end. He might have ploughed the land to start anew, but the storm that had died has left its ashes behind, and it is a matter of time to assess the vitality of these leftovers...

No comments:

Post a Comment