It was raining. And thick clouds surrounded the fields. Far away, the horizon could be seen – where the overhanging gray seemed to touch the bare, barren lands. There were no sounds. Neither a being was in sight. Was just that humid silence. Was just that cold breeze that kept blowing lightly from time to time trying to freshen things up temporarily before they damped away again to get assimilated into that black hollow through which no lights passed, from which no echo returned. The breeze carried the drizzle with it!
The only bright things in that silent solitude were being laid down upon the grave now. They were a bunch of roses. Fresh, giving off a pleasant scent that didn’t die down in the surrounding air in spite of the indifferent, still grayness of its vicinity, but instead, effortlessly diffused into the voids of the air and pores of mud around and filled the entire space with a spirit of rejuvenation; a never dying promise to bring dead back to life!
The gust of wind brought in the drizzle to moisten the man’s face. He wore a black hat that covered all of his forehead and part of his eyes. His coat, trousers – even his boots, that carried mud along wherever they went, were black! He bended down to put the roses over that grave and then stood up again.
The absence of much light and the drizzle that frequently wetted his face made it uncertain of whether he was crying. But he didn’t move. He stood there still and silent and watched the roses as they got bathed on mud. He was looking at the leaf that said the grave carried the body of a five-year-old girl, buried. She was supposed to have decomposed by now. Her fingers, eyes, lips were supposed to be lost in the wombs of Mother Earth, her hair was thought to be disseminated into the pores of ground, tangled up in the dead roots of those numerous plants that have tried to grow from the spot but couldn’t.
The man was sure that the girl, in spite of being lost in the fragments of earth, was still able to feel the roses that he carried to her grave every month. He stood there and watched the rain beat down the petals, mixing them with mud. His heart beat out sounds that he couldn’t hear himself. The ultra low frequencies penetrated the ground and woke up the girl who had been asleep for the past month.
The place never saw a sunny day. It always rained in that part of the world. There were a thousand graves around – spaced throughout the fields. None of them touched light. None of them got relieved of that silent, hovering melody resulting out of the eerie solitude. There were flowers and gifts scattered all around almost on every grave. And the sight stretched on to infinity in all directions. The incessant rain mostly washed the objects away. What remained was decomposed over time. Dead smelled the flowers and played with the gifts. Communication that is hindered is desired often in love – be it even between the living and the dead! Relationships that thrive on love are eternal! Nothing ends; nothing begins!
The man slowly turned round and started walking. He disappeared down the horizon to leave behind the roses… and the drizzle. The breeze carried the scent to distant places…
After she became aware of her father’s absence, she slowly oozed out of her grave – the pink frock still on her small, beautifully shaped body, the red ribbon still tied round her hair – happily smiling. The roses were so dear to her! She held them tight to her bosom and she smelled their fresh fragrance… She cried. And her tears became pearl and climbed up the lonely road to heaven through that still air, later to be brought down as rain. She cried because her heart yearned for something she couldn’t grasp, something beyond her reach. She cried because she knew that she would never know whether she would ever get free, whether she would be growing up and dying a second death one day, whether she would lose her evergreen beauty, of which she was quite jealous, that always seemed like a precious possession to her.
She spoke to the clouds, the breeze and the fields. She asked them if they were dead! They didn’t reply. And she asked the roses then… Their red appealed to her and she wanted to play! She wanted to run around the fields and fly kites and watch birds.
She felt lonely! And the whimsical Earth held on to Her obstinacy to not to change any of the Rules that made her run this world.
And then, before she went in the grave to rest quietly... closing her eyes, she cried again. She cried this time because she knew that one day the roses would stop coming to her grave as her father would be dying and taking a place close to her. While she cried silently, she went on wondering if anybody would remain alive then, on this planet, to bring her and her father a bunch of roses!
The only bright things in that silent solitude were being laid down upon the grave now. They were a bunch of roses. Fresh, giving off a pleasant scent that didn’t die down in the surrounding air in spite of the indifferent, still grayness of its vicinity, but instead, effortlessly diffused into the voids of the air and pores of mud around and filled the entire space with a spirit of rejuvenation; a never dying promise to bring dead back to life!
The gust of wind brought in the drizzle to moisten the man’s face. He wore a black hat that covered all of his forehead and part of his eyes. His coat, trousers – even his boots, that carried mud along wherever they went, were black! He bended down to put the roses over that grave and then stood up again.
The absence of much light and the drizzle that frequently wetted his face made it uncertain of whether he was crying. But he didn’t move. He stood there still and silent and watched the roses as they got bathed on mud. He was looking at the leaf that said the grave carried the body of a five-year-old girl, buried. She was supposed to have decomposed by now. Her fingers, eyes, lips were supposed to be lost in the wombs of Mother Earth, her hair was thought to be disseminated into the pores of ground, tangled up in the dead roots of those numerous plants that have tried to grow from the spot but couldn’t.
The man was sure that the girl, in spite of being lost in the fragments of earth, was still able to feel the roses that he carried to her grave every month. He stood there and watched the rain beat down the petals, mixing them with mud. His heart beat out sounds that he couldn’t hear himself. The ultra low frequencies penetrated the ground and woke up the girl who had been asleep for the past month.
The place never saw a sunny day. It always rained in that part of the world. There were a thousand graves around – spaced throughout the fields. None of them touched light. None of them got relieved of that silent, hovering melody resulting out of the eerie solitude. There were flowers and gifts scattered all around almost on every grave. And the sight stretched on to infinity in all directions. The incessant rain mostly washed the objects away. What remained was decomposed over time. Dead smelled the flowers and played with the gifts. Communication that is hindered is desired often in love – be it even between the living and the dead! Relationships that thrive on love are eternal! Nothing ends; nothing begins!
The man slowly turned round and started walking. He disappeared down the horizon to leave behind the roses… and the drizzle. The breeze carried the scent to distant places…
After she became aware of her father’s absence, she slowly oozed out of her grave – the pink frock still on her small, beautifully shaped body, the red ribbon still tied round her hair – happily smiling. The roses were so dear to her! She held them tight to her bosom and she smelled their fresh fragrance… She cried. And her tears became pearl and climbed up the lonely road to heaven through that still air, later to be brought down as rain. She cried because her heart yearned for something she couldn’t grasp, something beyond her reach. She cried because she knew that she would never know whether she would ever get free, whether she would be growing up and dying a second death one day, whether she would lose her evergreen beauty, of which she was quite jealous, that always seemed like a precious possession to her.
She spoke to the clouds, the breeze and the fields. She asked them if they were dead! They didn’t reply. And she asked the roses then… Their red appealed to her and she wanted to play! She wanted to run around the fields and fly kites and watch birds.
She felt lonely! And the whimsical Earth held on to Her obstinacy to not to change any of the Rules that made her run this world.
And then, before she went in the grave to rest quietly... closing her eyes, she cried again. She cried this time because she knew that one day the roses would stop coming to her grave as her father would be dying and taking a place close to her. While she cried silently, she went on wondering if anybody would remain alive then, on this planet, to bring her and her father a bunch of roses!
