Tale of Two

Silence had its own ego. That has been shredded last spring with the arrival of something deeper. Now there is a communion. An assured soul now sits in a blue painted room and lits up a cigar and doesn't smoke. Just the smell, and an even dwell between the fire and the ash. Worthlessness of words is not scary. You realize it when in a completely dark room, happy tears flow. Tears are aesthetics of compassion. Any word is a guest there, unwanted. One feels as if he can wait infinite moments before the tears stop and a sound is made. You can never replace a word said, even if you could, you can never bring back a slice of silence once it was broke.


An old old city in India and the crowded streets, the dirt, the dust, the rickshaw pullers, roadside tea stalls with candles, shops semi-lit, hawkers invading footpaths, the hustle and the bustle - all of this chaos is so brilliantly canvased that you believe they are arranged. Through that bazaar of life, I have walked clutching onto someone's fingers. Sometimes you wonder how beautiful it is to be the contrast. In that pandemonium, your quietness is still heard. You just look at the eyes that have all the shades of light present there and forget about time. No need to say anything. Hold her hand and mix in the crowd. At times you feel good as you were not too special to be alone.


Life - in words or in its quietude, in crying or laughing about it - was still breathing. You just waited for the face that would assure you of yours. Share a splash of your life. It is always worth living after.

SoUmYA