Maybe, I don’t know her enough, to tell you that she lives like a nymph, one of those magical elemental creatures.
Somewhere rooted in the essence of air that she can sense in the ground as she looks at the moving river. The leaves would fall on her and she would let them stay in her hair if she is alone.
When she is alone, she is surely the nymph. But, we can’t be alone for long. Nymphs are born and they stay with the element and the element never really stay.
Frozen or Forgotten, the magic that once filled the rush of those rivers. The fire flooded and the river ran to the plains. The child of the fire and river went along the turmoils and landed in the Delhi rain.
The river stay in the plains, it revives in the rain. But, the baby Nymph has remained, like an unknown power. I have seen her, I have been with her, I have seen her interact with nature. She is calm and I Have seen her with people, A little lost in her pure essence with them or when forced by the nerves forgotten of her real self. It has been an year ever since my suspects of her reality to be transcended into something super natural.
Last year, I called her a subconscious superhero, for she would understand the frailties better than the broken pieces. This year, it seems, the nymph is all I can call her. She is no hero of the realms rather the child of faith and spirit.
One very fine day, I had witnessed her tears as that of a child without hate or pain known to me, but to my soul. I have heard her heart say it to me, in lines that are pure music to the realm I reside in, the beating was that of the sun flares and the blood rush was the river. She is the river from the sun, sustained by Shiva and Kept with Brahma.
I was in love this character, she would adhere her smile with the sense of the nature that would surround her, little did I know that she was just a frame of what I truly admire in creation.
For a human being, everything tends to sustain, as if the occurrences are vibrations that find stability on the heart and it beats. But when you fall in love, none of this really makes you feel your incompleteness.
For every child born is this little note of music which meets every creation that is made for him or her to recount and recollect his song. All of us share that song and to that song, I am closer. Because I told you, her heart is like music.
She won’t tell you and probably she herself seldom realize that her eyes are Aleph. Her presence is that of a mountain reaching the skies for peace so that she can sing her song. I have been lucky enough to climb to her reality.
Probably after a very long while, I am writing this blog, and there is a reason to it, its her birthday and her energy always makes me feel complete. She allows me to be the best of me, this Hermit who wants to be in the mountains, sailing the flute of her real desires.
Everyone, including her have the opinion that I am wrong, and I proclaim, I may not know enough, but what I know so far, is that she is the sustenance of consciousness and she told me that no body is different. And that makes it easier for me to live and say that she is a Nymph.
Colors say that I have gone blind,
Have you known?
Music & Memories,
How loud they sound.
Senses blame my broken mind,
Did you see that?
That I might be blind,
I have been saying the same things,
But the words can’t physically collide,
What went in time.
There were memoirs,
You were sailing wide,
With that smile.
I am certainly miles in space,
Forgotten in blunders,
Yet I feel and I know,
That colors are right.
Take it from me and my broken ones to not to fall in love with the people who cannot love you back. I know it is not a choice but you don’t have to spend your years treading the sea only to realize there lies an ocean of difference between the ones who ‘cannot’ and the ones who ‘do not’. So, I would now leave it up to you to take the charge and acknowledge the thing that is destroying you the most. All I can say is to not to trade away your happiness just to be hit hard by the realization later that every fraction of their smile was a mockery on your destruction and somehow, if you feel this is going to be harsh, then you might want to retreat, for this is to the ones who believed it was okay for some people to give away…
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I face this sheet again, after tussling with thoughts for endless times, here I am. Thoughts didn’t disappear, only my writing did. Caught up somewhere between my ways and yours, trivial. Why do I even write this, camouflaging it just enough, nothing to decipher, nothing to not understand, easy. Splitting within the self, part to unleash the caged uproar, the other to bury the beast.
I face this sheet again, after tussling with words for endless times, here I am. The words didn’t disappear, only my writing did. Forces, imperishable run far and wide, trivial. The ones inside are untamed within the boundaries, pernicious.
I face this sheet again, this time pulling it out because tonight, the thoughts and the words and my writing is all I need. I write just enough to free the beast but the roars were unheard.
My sight cannot find humans on the mountain, there are other creatures with amazing natural composition. All of them have radiations, almost complementary to the temperature of the altitude.
This is supposed to be a glitch. I think I found what is known to be the Maltese Tiger. It is wondrous to find this creature but a factual fallacy. Apparently, the human database never had a strict evidence of the creature. It is really not in accord.
I have started to understand that humans themselves don’t know their planet. The tiger is blue in colour and the stance of black is very appealing. The creator must be highly precise to put each stroke of dark colour on the light blue skin.
I moved forwards and the creature reacted by stretching his forelegs. Primal tendencies were identified, fear. The primal reaction was an offence in the form of defence. The philosophical input in my data said I should stay still. So I did not move.
The creature came closer and rubbed a soft tissue on my metallic leg. Now I have an error, this is recorded as affection. But this is not its primal nature. Dichotomy or development.
The best I have read.
While I chased meaning in every breath.
Reckless sighs possessed my symphony
A broken verse once dreamt by the death.
Are we closer
Or drifting away in the endless space of fate.
Are we dreaming of life
Or chasing death under skies that weeps instrumental rain.
My hopeless mind
read endless lines
Wasted away hundreds of days and
What is a space without time
And a song without resonances of rhyme.
Are we illusionary fragments of memories
poured into God’s jar of wine.