A writer’s random :Thoughts
A
small bud somewhere in a hidden garden emerges from slumber, in the quest to
bloom. When it is still a sapling, still too tender to climb up on its own, it
seeks support. And the climber sapling spreads its hands and feet in search of
that invisible stick that will lead it to greater heights. Like a blind person the
fragile green grabs hold of anything that comes in its way and commences its pursuit.
The baby bud has now started to open up. At the pinnacle, it blooms into a
beautiful white flower with fragrance that invites the buzzing bees to lick up
the sweet nectar from its belly.
A night, dark and dense, holds in itself the secrets
unknown. A new moon might be even more mysterious. Unknown where the next step
would fall, a traveler passes through a forest. The sound of a cricket echoes
from everywhere. The dry leaves beneath her feet grumble in some strange sound.
Pitch darkness and nowhere to go. A wolf moans somewhere far away. The jungle
is awake even in the slumber of the night. “Where to look for the way?” She
asks herself and looks up for the heavenly help. A smile dawns upon her face
like the morning sun. The sky glitters with the tiny diamonds and one among
them the brightest, to the North pointing her where to go. The help is granted
and she is obliged.
He waits for her patiently,
but she doesn’t turn up. He waits again, impatiently, she still doesn’t. It
aches somewhere deep in his chest, but he won’t shed the pain, he carries it.
She comes up and says something extraneous, irrelevant. He is just happy to
listen, happy to see the curve on her lips stretch into a beautiful smile,
happy to wait to just see that smile sit gracefully on her face. The wait is
over yet it remains forever, indefinitely. There is some beauty in uncertainty,
the rest is fear.
A
tiger strays in the wild. Hungry and blood thirsty it looks around for its
prey. The big bulging predator eyes are in a search. No it is not its killing instinct;
it is its growling stomach that demands for food. A fawn jumps around his
mother’s hind legs playfully, knowing little of what is going to happen next.
The tiger crouches behind the tall grass, its sharp eyes fixed upon the little
life. A swift plunge on the prey, without giving even a warning such are the
skills of this hunter. Without a daunt, it leaps and in one go grabs the fawn
like a timid toy. Its jaws strangulate its neck with each passing second and
the life that was still left inside struggles to get loose. The heavens cries as the mother sees her child getting ripped apart while the blood satiates somebody’s thirst and the flesh fills its stomach. The dust settles down and
the red waters take away what is to be given back to the mother earth.
The inception of life, the deeds or karma, the hope in survival and reparation after destruction that’s all this is, we and everything around us.
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