Monday, 16 June 2008

Pining for a lost Spring

And suddenly the air begins to drift away in a different direction leaving aside the speculation of its presence. It blows with a force formidable enough to blow away castles.
Slowly it descends through the plain surface and gets lost into its own wilderness. A ripple forms on the surface and manifests itself through a smile, and then slowly it gets dissolved amidst the commotion. While these things happen, she sits there at a hand’s distance, agnostic of the ripples, the moving away of breath, the fluttering of lungs and how the 350 gm. piece of muscle beats hard trying to break loose and burst out.

As the eyes collide, they send a chill down the spine and drown the body into an infinite lull. Amazed at the spectacle, imagination endeavors to materialize her beauty. It gets defeated. She doesn’t resemble a moon, nor does her radiance equals that of the moonlight. Neither does she stand anywhere near to the beauty of Cleopatra nor to the Helen of Troy. She stands nowhere near to them. Her eyes aren’t beautiful. Her lips aren’t rosy .Her hairs aren’t silky.
But there is something quaintly beautiful in that figure right in front. She moves gently sideways to adjust her sight as if trying to position her weapons before the attack. And then with her sight she rips apart the soul of the person in front. The beholder bears it all , being all the time at her mercy, and then all of a sudden ,as though out of pity , she takes her eyes away and radiates a smile conveying her power to rip souls apart just through her sight.

Approvingly, she listens to all that the beholder utters and then gently refutes all that she heard dissolving all the hopes of the beholder into oblivion. Apparently, her eyes move in every direction but they are fixed upon something, of which only she knows. In the pretension of her bovine nature she wriggles her hands, as if to break her fingers, or may be she is just emulating a skirmish between the contemporary fingers of her hands, each trying to outdo other and make tapping noise sometimes in the process.

Who can guess what is crossing through her mind as she shrivels her lips trying to speak something out. But nothing meaningful comes out .Its not silence nor is it reticence, its complete volubility of words, albeit, they mean nothing, hiding the truth which the silence beneath the voice speaks. What remains meaningful only is the spectacle bearing her into its lap.

After creating several turbulences she intimates her desire to leave the platform and lo! All of a sudden entire body parts rise up, beseeching her to stay ,but the lips do otherwise. They can’t ask her to stay and bids her adieu! At this the whole environment militates against her departure. The heart breaks itself into a million little pieces and the lungs go down fluttering harder, trying to go breathless through rapid breathing.
As she departs, head and eyes swivel to watch her move away, her merciless legs carrying her away and taking along with her all the actions that were going on currently on the platform. Now the place is desolate .Its vivacity has died now.
A request sneaks out of those lips, “Please Don’t go!”, but in vain, since the air has stopped now and sound can’t be carried in vacuum. The imploring of lips goes in vain and despondent with the loss the legs begin to turn in other direction. The place is getting back to its eerie environment and every arrangement is floating away.
Now there is no light, no music, no fragrance nothing, just a dry desolate place, yearning for the moments that just went by.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice comes in action and implores me to move on, to carry on and get to my duty and wait for the next season when she will again be here waiting, when again she would look down and sideways when she finds me coming towards her, when again she will entrap me with her smile and the place would flourish again and again there will be a mild and silent struggle of organs. And I, content with these thoughts move out of the desolate place to carry on with my duty, and carrying along with myself the agony and the ecstasy and the hope that there will be spring again…….

1 comment:

Aashish Gupta said...

Brilliant. You've enunciated your thoughts resplendently. Is your literary work based on the facts, Just wondering. :-)