Tree of life,
Burdened by the numerous birds hanging onto it.
Precariously but with unending noise of expectations.
You try to cling to your roots with all its might,
Soak in all that you can from the roots to grow.
or to stop yourself from dying.
All your adult life,
Worrying about the next season. Next wave of monsoon.
To obliterate the parch gloom of survival. Unending harshness of sunlight.
Until that one day,
the rainy season never arrives.
And in the expectation of your belief, you die.
Lonely, Slow death.
The birds have moved on to the greener tree far away.
Far away without any hint of the struggle endured.
He slowly entered through the front door without making a noise. The dog was following him right behind licking his tail. It was pitch dark inside as the lights were off due to the storm last night. He picked up the half-burnt candle lying on the verandah and illuminated it with his lighter. The room was barely visible from the flicker of the light.
Melking moved ahead one step at a time. He was looking for something important and valuable in the rubble of things that was scattered all over the room. The stairs were long and wieldy and were carpeted from start to end. The footmarks were visible on the steps that led to the attic on the top floor. He slowly moved ahead and started climbing the steps. He turned back to look at the dog. The dog was far behind and moving away from the house into the dark alley.
Suddenly there was a movement behind and a dark shadow lurked from across the room and disappeared in split second. Melkin did not see this. He was moving ahead with the candle in hand and oblivious to the surrounding. He only had one objective in mind. To get that valuable piece quickly and dart out of this bunglow.
The night was getting darker by the hour.
To be continued…
The wind was blowing at a steady pace over the parched land. The trees were bare with leaves falling into their usual slumber to prepare for the spring ahead. Birds were circling the sky in search of their preys with anticipation.
Suddenly, there was a slow sound that whispered out of the blue building from the far away corner of the road. It was Melkin standing over a porch with a kerosene lamp in his hand to ward off the darkness of night. He was an unusual man with unusual tastes. The baggy green bell bottoms dripping precariously over his slender build. He had an umbrella over his head at all times. The stray dog was wagging his tail behind an alley at right angle to where he was standing looking at the thing in his hand.
The taste of it was bitter. He had tasted this thing long time ago in his childhood while playing football with his best friend. He didn’t recall what was it or how did he got hold of it. But it felt like memories were made and destroyed in the split second.
The town was all but destroyed from the mysterious fire that engulfed it few days ago. Who started it? What was the reason for it to spread like wildfire? Where are the other inhabitants of this place? These were the questions that had no answer. The only thing left untouched was a house in the corner at the far end where Melkin was standing.
The doors and the outer frame of the building was untouched by fire. There were three flower vases kept outside with beautiful bougainvillea flowers still hanging out of the small opening. The chairs were scattered all over the porch from the storm that passed by last night.
It was a strange night. Yesterday.
To be contuinued…
Fascinating documentary on ‘The Rules of Abstraction’ in art. Reminds me of Tate Museum in London.
The Rules of Abstraction With Matthew Collins