She scribbled and a tear smudged the paper. She folded the sheet and gave it to the grave-etcher. Her eyes looked pained. She nodded and departed, leaving him standing with the folded bit of paper.
He picked up his tool bag and slung it on his shoulder. He opened the paper.
"Here lies the grave of a coward who couldn't appreciate the beauty of things he had. Who played a million lies throughout his life. A man, who despite being loved truly, did not want it. A man who died, in the end, wishing to change his past. May his pitiable soul rest in peace."
pain
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
November 07, 2010
Short Story- 12
There was a time when all I had to do was reach out. And a rainbow would be mine. It was a life of sunbursts and glittering rains. Answers were simple one words. Worries were bound between school textbooks and were left behind once homeworks were done.
And then I grew up.
Perspectives got added. People walked in and out of life like I gave them a choice. Things that mattered died with time. I never thrilled the same way when I saw a touch-me-not shrink within itself. It was too familiar a sight. I shrink almost everyday. From people, events, truth.
And then I grew up.
Perspectives got added. People walked in and out of life like I gave them a choice. Things that mattered died with time. I never thrilled the same way when I saw a touch-me-not shrink within itself. It was too familiar a sight. I shrink almost everyday. From people, events, truth.
June 09, 2010
Short story 8
Somewhere, by the sea, Krishna laments, playing his flute. I can hear its faint notes. For all the games he has played- with minds, hearts, lives... he laments.
"I too am a mere toy of fate," his song claims. A plaintive note arises. A struggling breath, choked with tears he dare not shed in front of those who worship him, finds its way through bamboo shoot and musical voids and begs for forgiveness!
The sky. The sea. The earth. Early stars standing testimony for the cosmos. And the dying embers of a smouldering sun lining the horizon. He prays to the Panchabhootams through his music, pleading to be relieved from his bounden duty of playing his crafty game- turning kin against kin, twirling destiny between his thumbs.
The faint sounds still visit on rainy days like this one... Between the patter of the drops, I almost hear Krishna's sobs. In the breeze, I still can hear the lull of his flute and when the raindrop touches me, I feel a love so pure, so gentle and so trusting. Who else, but Krishna could touch that way?
"I too am a mere toy of fate," his song claims. A plaintive note arises. A struggling breath, choked with tears he dare not shed in front of those who worship him, finds its way through bamboo shoot and musical voids and begs for forgiveness!
The sky. The sea. The earth. Early stars standing testimony for the cosmos. And the dying embers of a smouldering sun lining the horizon. He prays to the Panchabhootams through his music, pleading to be relieved from his bounden duty of playing his crafty game- turning kin against kin, twirling destiny between his thumbs.
The faint sounds still visit on rainy days like this one... Between the patter of the drops, I almost hear Krishna's sobs. In the breeze, I still can hear the lull of his flute and when the raindrop touches me, I feel a love so pure, so gentle and so trusting. Who else, but Krishna could touch that way?
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