Do you remember your first fountain pen? Or your favorite one? That feeling of being old enough to own a pen. Moving on from Nataraj & Faber Castell. Truly jumping into the world of words.
That was a time when paper did not come cheap. Blank papers from old notebooks became new notebook – Rough Copy 🙂 This copy had papers of all shapes and sizes. All colors and tints. Square boxes of maths notebook. And three lines of Literature notebook. A souvenir, a gift, from last year to this – jumbled up, yet so simple.
All the thoughts in my head. And all the thoughts in yours. Will be ink one day. And paper and pen. And then, at last, I will write us a poem. And a love song, maybe.
Sometimes my mind is like a dangerous storm. And my heart is thrown away in all directions. I need to look beyond the eye of this storm. I need to write it all down. I need my pen – The one that is lost now.
He thought the storm had settled down,
And normalcy restored.
Only to discover that turbulence is permanent,
And essential, to some extent.
The lightning struck on an important day.
The day that used to be important.
But not anymore. The day has lost its meaning.
Like so many things around.
It has become a farce.
A fancy painting in a mirage.
The canvas laughed at him.
At his helplessness.
And he kept looking at the illusion.
The storm that was now brewing in the painting.
A storm that he thought had settled down.
The squirrels have deserted the place. The stripes are nowhere to be seen.
The parrots have gone too. Such irritants they were. I liked sparrows more. But they have left as well.
The night has engulfed me like a blanket. Crickets are chirping all around me. They have stayed. They always stay. I wish I was as indifferent as they are.
The night is very still. I look up at the sky. I see the Moon smiling at me.
“You tried your best”, he said to me.
“Will you stay with me?”, I asked
“Till the end”, the moon assured me.
The days have been too cold and lonely. I looked at the fire. This is the last fire I have. Last fire from my last tree.
The tree is gone. Squirrels are not going to come back. Birds don’t want to do anything with me. What could I have done different? I looked at the axe lying next to me. You are the last possession I have, I said. And just like everything else, I will have to let you go too.
I see the flames going up as I put the axe into it. This will last for few minutes before the cold consumes me, I thought. I am going to sleep. May be I will find squirrels in the place I am going to. May be it will be warmer there. Maybe.
I miss my trees. I burnt them all. Could I have done anything different? I do not know.