There is a sadness in the eyes of a river when it stealthily, so quietly eats up the soft earth at night. Inch by inch. The earth is soulful, silent. It is like that lover who welcomes his decadence on a coin. There are two sides - reluctant and willing. They flip. All in the name of love. His sacrifice is not pitiable but respecting. That is why men made earth their homes and not water.
Erosion is attached to soil. Much to the surprise, it relates to soul, too. Love is the most simple word in existence. To our convenience, it is ambiguous. There is decay in emotions too. Feelings have conflicts like utensils. They are loud even at subtle moments. And one day, it discovers the gradual unreeling of soul. The realization is as penetrating as an aggressive river to its bank. You then know, belongings were lost. What remains is a map. That stays.
Words are humane. Their sensitivity comes from a different dimension. They are used, misplaced, misinterpreted and often excessed. That is why if you don't choose them carefully, there can be strange noises. They come with no cost, they don't ask. And that is why, they are bright when used less.
Pause, reader.
Time is introvert. It always rotates, uniform in a pre-defined path. It is too shy to stop so that none notices. That is the irony. Same with the blind earth at night. It accepts its decay and wishes, someday she will realize and retract. Words wait when they will not be taken as granted, much as some quiet souls.
But the erosion continues - inch by inch, soul to soul, commas to colons. Someday with all hushed in, there will be grains dried up. They won't have eyes but you will know, there was only pity.
Bring me a rain, then.
Erosion is attached to soil. Much to the surprise, it relates to soul, too. Love is the most simple word in existence. To our convenience, it is ambiguous. There is decay in emotions too. Feelings have conflicts like utensils. They are loud even at subtle moments. And one day, it discovers the gradual unreeling of soul. The realization is as penetrating as an aggressive river to its bank. You then know, belongings were lost. What remains is a map. That stays.
Words are humane. Their sensitivity comes from a different dimension. They are used, misplaced, misinterpreted and often excessed. That is why if you don't choose them carefully, there can be strange noises. They come with no cost, they don't ask. And that is why, they are bright when used less.
Pause, reader.
Time is introvert. It always rotates, uniform in a pre-defined path. It is too shy to stop so that none notices. That is the irony. Same with the blind earth at night. It accepts its decay and wishes, someday she will realize and retract. Words wait when they will not be taken as granted, much as some quiet souls.
But the erosion continues - inch by inch, soul to soul, commas to colons. Someday with all hushed in, there will be grains dried up. They won't have eyes but you will know, there was only pity.
Bring me a rain, then.
Comments
:) Awesom post.
Bring me a rain, then.
:)