Like a wound that is about to heal and be filled with scab. Yet suddenly it starts to bleed afresh....
INTROSPECTION
Evening settled like a forgotten rose. Left at the doorstep of a beloved. It softly wrinkled as time crumpled with each passing second. The hue of its bright blushing cheeks changed into deeper reds. Like a wound that is about to heal and be filled with scab. Yet suddenly it starts to bleed afresh. As it hears the noises of China tea cups crackling from inside. Roars of laughter rising. And then met with deafening silence. A few uncomfortable murmurs are exchanged. For now, it hears everything. For the first time in its life, it can decipher the language of the hearts and it is probably the last. And the colours flow and trail along the footsteps. It picks up hints of what is being talked about behind the curtains. The twilight deepens and so does the exchange. The once minimalist small talk turns into layers of past sorrows and shortcomings. And then there’s an ocean of fear and anxiety. And hearing that almost feels like drowning in the rising tides of the subconscious.
“Why did life bring me here? What is the purpose of me witnessing this harmless yet profound act of dismantling the human heart at the cost of a few words? Why does it feel so raw yet so private at the same time? And somehow it is a conversation that is meant to be spread with the sublime hues of crimson sunset and dying colours of my petals,” thinks the now already dried up rose.
As the soft breaths now are separated by longer durations, so are the words. So carefully chosen as not to upset the beholder. And beauty at once becomes so fragile that it could crack by a death stare. All mistakes are hung up by the walls and regrets are nailed to the floor. And a heart is kept in a glass jar at the centre. And a life that was once immortal is made perishable.
And with it the mammoth burdens of life turn to dust rising from the cracks of past time. As the smoke rises from the chimney and spreads into the sky, the rose turns into embers of ashes. For it too has learnt what it’s like to set itself aflame when in confrontation with life’s daunting realities.
“Why must the wicked supersede the innocent? Why must the heart of one be conceited and the other’s humble? Why must the right choice be the hardest? Why must love only be looked down upon and hatred flourished? Why are flaws hidden away and perfection sought by arbitrary standards?
Why must the right lessons be learnt at the wrong doorstep where the end of everything begins?”
Sighs the now faintly breathing rose, as it sleeps into the evening.
