2. Another Day to Spare a Dream

“Its called a Thunderbird. Hey, I am Newt Scamander.” An old British man appeared from the woods and offered Naina a sneering smile.
“Where?” Naina tried to assemble her thoughts and question in the limited English she could use.
“Language problem, or is it the transportation? Well, let me help you, I could barely get the alien American accent even now.” He took out his wand, a clean wooden stick curved at the end where it was held. Scamander levitated the wand and there was an illumination in his wan at the height. Naina was lost again, too much of bright lights for her in one night. Naina suspended slowly into the air and rested on the ground, she was not under her control. The wand lit up the entire surrounding, Newt put his wand back in the pocket of his trousers, he adjusted his blue overcoat and got on the Thunderbird.
“Time to go back home, dear friend. We will come here again when you want to be free. For now, Hogwarts is calling.” The enormous bird spread its wing and made an echo for the woods.
“And don’t worry about her, she will wake up with a new language, let her learn the words. Ilvermorny is the right place for her.”
Thunderstruck and the Thunderbird took over the clouds. The moonlight was eclipsed by the wild convergence of the clouds leaving Naina to rest on the grass.

Naina opened her eyes to find herself alone in the forest, the twilight woke her up. Astonished and lost in the forest, she got up. She heard a group of people coming closer to her, the bushes were making sound and she could listen to different voices.
“This way!” A voice with a shrill pitch echoed through the forest. Naina walked towards the source, she hid behind the bushes, placing her hand to pull the huge leaf. She found several people wearing coloured cloaks and a tall woman trying to uproot a plant next to her.
“Can you see us, young lady?” Everybody turned towards Naina and somehow she was called upon.
“I can, I am lost!” She tried approaching the woman. Her own accent was surprisingly changed.
“If you can see us, then you are not lost, my child. You must be a witch. Alister! Huish Hwaeuy Huis!”
A huge horse appeared out of the trees. Everyone in the crowd was acting normal as if nothing strange was happening. The horse stood right next to the woman. A dark skin animal, with majestic hair floating in the air. almost similar to that of the woman in the lustre. Even their height was exactly the same.
“Alister shall take you to the premise! Enjoy the ride.” She swung her pitch black sword in the direction pulling in the air to make Naina sit on the horse. Her heartbeat had no bound after experiencing all this and she passed out as the horse ran into the trees.
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“My dear child is finally here!”
“It took her 18 years of her life to find the link, but finally. She looks so beautiful, just like you honey, I wonder what colour of eyes. I bet its green like yours.”
“I can’t believe we had to stay away from her for 18 years just for the sake of the muggle nurture treaty that Macusa invented to safeguard the faith of words.”

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1. A Night to Spare Another Day

Kundah is the name of a small town near the Nilgiri Hills in India. The december nights in Kundah are cold and almost fatal to the stray dogs living in the district. On christmas eve, Naina had somehow collected some clothes for the stray dogs. It was around 2 AM in the full moon light, when she sneaked out of her foster house to help the poor souls. She was unlike other people living in the district, her blue eyes would call for wonders in the long night, with her hair flawlesly falling on her red sweater, she smiled looking at the puppies bundled up by the street.

She took out some patched pieces of clothes and covered the shivering puppies in their sleep. The moon was bright, some of the christian household had decorated their wooden houses with light, all the magical elements in the lonely night sustained her smile. Soon the blue eyes were caught by a green kandeel, the Indian hanging sort of like a shade for the lights. But this one was different, the craft on the texture was entierly unique to Naina, she herself had woven many crafts on such kandeels back in the foster house during vacations to earn some extra money. She stood underneath the kandeel and glared upon the beautiful lit up sky. The nights in the district of Kundah were always bright, the full moon would co-ordinate with the stars visible in the clear skies.

It was not late till the kandeel would start to refract certain other colours from the moonlight falling on the craft. Naina as lost in those colours, stood there simply, wondering the occurences above. She look closely to the centre of the hanging and her sight lost into the unilinear strain coming straight to her forehead.

Her surroundings started to refract the similar patterns, the streets disappears and huge trees replaced into the soil. The puppies were rocks and the mountain dissolved into a lake. And soon the kandeel disappeared into beak of a large bird looking at Naina, as the tiny human still wondering, looking into the eyes of the creature as if dreaming.

Still lost in her head, admiring the huge creature, she placed her right hand on the neck of the wild beast. The humungous bird jolted to break Naina’s dillusion and she broke into a scream.

The Featured Image is by Naina! Check out her amazing Instagram feed here.

A Meshed Poetic Dream

A wizard in Black, a witch in Blue,

The magic of love blended with their doom.

To let this world be, the colours had to die,

For dreams have no space for blinding lights.

 

For their wands could hold the ocean,

And their words could cease the stars,

They held this dream to last,

To let the sleep mend their swollen hearts.

 

Their power so immense, their misery so pure,

When they would kiss, the moon would adore.

The ocean would pour out into the air,

And ask the mended fire to play fair.

 

The fire once born, was not a charm,

Created by the magician, held by the harm.

The blue would burn, The black would bleed,

The ocean would dry, to quench their need.

 

How cold, the flame to hold them close,

How bright, they burn, with the love in their bones,

The moon would rest, the wind would test

The fire shall still burn the holy flesh.

 

Alas, with only the fire and the night,

Dawn shall break the burning ice.

They wake up, entangled in their heads,

Two poets, one dream, to detest.

Two poets, one dream, the mesh.

 

 

8. The Violin Play

“Hey, Alex. I guess I am sick. It is time to wake up.” I could only feel the febrile decay of my strength. My body was warm to its core, the brittle memories from the weird dream added to the problem. ” I had a weird dream. Fever dream, I suppose..”.

“Good Morning, take an off today, Dr Atlas. You think so much.” she came closer to kiss, the touch of her lips was cold. ” It is bad. You should have a break. Stay at home, I will come early as well.” Her voice was comforting, yet my body felt as if it would melt from the shivers through my skin. I took out the medicine and swallowed it with the last sip of water left in the water bottle.

“Yes, I will text them that I cannot come. Have a good day. Make something delicious. I need some positive energy in my mind.” I smiled at her and kissed her for a brief moment. The moment was not enough, but my body was not normal. I smiled again and closed my eyes, afraid of the dream yet searching for the answer of the Vedas. Wisdom could not reach to me eventually, the dream made no sense.


The endless and immortal space, a dream again. A drop of sweat rolled down my face. Another dream with no wisdom of real context of my life.

It was the space this time, completely empty just a sort of a cluster of beautiful colours in front of me. I was not breathing, not moving, not listening, but I was there. Kept at the moment, waiting for something to wake me up. I placed my vision onto the bright colours in front of me, the cluster looked like a coloured river contained by the moment. I close my eyes, trying to wake myself. I was stuck again, sweating with the vision of a giant super nova. A dead star, ironically my mental status at the very moment; a mind incapable of allowing the wisdom of the experience, process through its core.

I helplessly stare at the blend of colours, a golden glow around the deep red and blue blend of its centre. To the little philosophy in my head, it reminded me for the colour of blood revamped with the blue of the sky. Symbolic of danger, life and peace. I was certainly lost. I kept looking till my mind could perceive an image of a women’s face in the dead star. A beautiful face, red on the inside and the blue slowly converted into the black like the rest of the space. A slow descent of the blue into the darkness. A sudden sound gave me chills, it was music. A violin, a sad-single instrument that seemed to be the void around me. The face had darkened on the edges of the colour. The eyes had the blue, rest everything was red. Red to the essence, I did not even try speaking. Waited for the silly dream to send more cues of my sub-conscious head.

The music slowed down with the image of the women blinking her eyes, the movement again went forth to disturb the darkness. Her lips appeared and slowly the space around me began to detonate with a powerful tone to go along with the violin.

Each word is supposed to uplift your existence from the hell,

Each phrase had to pull your essence to the blue,

But you desired the blood! The wars!

You belonged to the skies, But the hour is rather broken to fly,

The words were dead when the red had coloured the race,

Only a few remain in the isolated verse,

You sought wisdom and here you end,

Dying with the meaning of those words as the ornament,

Just keep your soul, listen till inferno,

Sophia from the Republic has died,

They never read Plato in the dim light,

I only exist in this lost cell of thoughts,

Inside the mind of a sick person, inside the blank pages that were lost.

My body was almost gone out in the darkness, absorbed and devoid of my sense to a greater extent. Her face, the face resembled Alex. Sophia, rather a philosophy from the book I am supposed to read.

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4.The Dilemma of Differences

“Do talk to him, the boy. I am sure, you will find the cues you look for the story.” My therapist always had her way of directing me towards more thoughts. “And you have fun at work. Take care.”   I got out of the car and walked towards the classroom, each step towards the building was a powerful recollection of my own identity to myself. The strong red colour and the beautiful architecture of the building was always welcoming. The way to the classroom was filled with morning greetings and smiles from my students, all the young minds I adored. I entered the first class and closed the door. The click of the door was an escape to me, simply a room filled with thoughts. The white board was scribbled with some theories and creative jokes. The 30 benches were occupied, the classic first week.

“Good Morning! Just a single mail? Nobody else likes to write here? Take some more time you guys. You, people, are here for 4 years.” Talking to the classroom was another important intricate activity that defined my own self to me.

“This is going to be marked upon?” A student sitting on the first bench asked.

“Marked? Oh, alright. Yes, every interaction in the classroom is marked in my lectures. But I spare the room of technicalities for the first-year batch. And let talk less about things that appeal differences.” The classic queries were always around a materialistic thing inside the classroom, tried my best to make a distance in philosophy and materialism in my classes.

“That brings us to the topic we shall think about today, differences. Why this topic? I really don’t know, but it is a concern that literature links up widely. Every single text you read will be composed off a difference in the human society. Think about it, tell me the name of any literal work that does not appeal a social difference.”

“Harry Potter, J.K Rowling. The lady never talked about rich and poor, it was always about one thing in the entire world, magic. No levels of identity there?” A girl spoke up. The enthusiasm made me smile. “You Muggle! Or shall we say Mud-blood! Don’t say this to Hermione Granger, alright? Nice attempt and I love the fact that you find fiction unifying.”

“Poems? There are many, I suppose. Wordsworth never talked about differences in Daffodils.” The boy from the back questioned and had a point. It felt great to be challenged by the students.

“You got me here! I shall rephrase, A story including at least two characters. Even a lot of monologues in the romantic era showcased the differences in the country living and the urban side. But the point is that a single thought of the difference in a story can be the whole basis of its origin and why is that so? For what I believe we humans tend to make conflicts out of those differences.” I walked towards the podium and examined the different faces in the classroom.

“Conflict is the major reason that led you out to this place, the reason why you had to leave your native place. Might be economical in the form, or maybe a social outbreak against you? The reason I want to address this to you people is simple, you are the victim of differences and even here in Europe, you guys are studying in the migrant batch. So can anyone tell me what was the first question that the migration department people asked you?”

A unanimous response of the word, “Name” was followed through the classroom.

“Names, the entities purely derived from religion in most parts of the world. There are exceptions of course, for example, my Indian friend names the Greek Goddess, Athena. Yea, I have been around the world to study these differences for my first book. Religion is the formation for every difference and conflict in the world today or you may believe in the Capitalistic perspective, which is alright. So, this element religion, I want to start with this phenomenon that binds you and me to the roots of our culture.” My phone vibrated, I always hated the vibration of the alarm that was set forth for the end of the class.

“E-mails! Come on. That is all for the day, I want you all to ask your parents about the religious perspective and my dear atheist friends, tomorrow’s lecture will be a better one, I promise. You guys can go on to the next class.” I sat on the bench and looked out for Irfan, hoping that he might approach.

A Date With Luna Lovegood

“Waiting for something to happen by the shore of The Great Lake? You must be a Hufflepuff.” It was a female, as the voice suggested; I was nerved and could not fathom the thought of anyone being near the lake at this hour, I turned and found Luna from Ravenclaw. She was there in a blue dress and with her wandering blue eyes, she seemed beautiful under the moonlight reflecting of the water.

“You scared me, I visit this place to meet a friend of mine and yes, Hufflepuff. How come a Ravenclaw wizard is roaming in the night without her books ?” I smiled and played a joke hoping to initiate a conversation, I had heard about Luna from a lot of people, they said she is insane and always lost within her thoughts, her blue dress made her look flawless and to follow my interests, insane is the essence of magic to me.

“I wonder around from books to imaginations, I don’t like being precise to a point, I am here to wonder and find a place to lose myself again.” her voice was a sweet rain of absurd thoughts, no wonder people call her insane. No matter how vague it all sounded, I was falling for her already, It seemed she was herself a magical illusion of the stars.

“You want to walk around the shore? If my friend is here soon, maybe you can meet him. And while we walk, maybe find a place for you to be lost in your imagination?” I had to make the invitation to know her more, Aeonian would wait for me or even catch up somewhere.

“Let’s walk. The lake ? Who are you waiting for over here? I come here to see those beautiful creatures sometimes. Have you even been inside? ” This could barely make sense to me, I flexed my hand to feel my senses, but the cold had slowed  my blood flow and I was numb. All I could do is look at her.

“Inside the lake ? No! Of course not, I love animals but there are some, who are very dangerous inside, I have read about them. My favorite are the Merpeople, I have heard their noise can make one intoxicated into obliviation. It will like listening to a song and then resting all our thoughts into the lake.”

She giggled and came close to me, ” You know who I am right ?”

I drove my numb hands to hold her, I had an urge to hug her at once. I went for it, but could not grab her, she had no body. I was numb to my heart then. She came closer passing through my skin and pressed her lips against mine. “You know who I am right, Sagar?”

The blue dress turned into a lake, the lake was screaming out loud and the taste was still of her lips. I escaped my sight from the scary transition and felt her lips. The colour red flashed onto my imagination and when I opened my eyes, the lake was all red, I close my eyes again and lost the essence of her lips. I could feel a warm sense and my throbbing heart, this must be Aeonian, the phoenix. My friend Aeonian, I could feel his fire burning my illusions away. A phoenix who had saved me even before from the blue of my fears. I opened my eyes and saw Aeonion burning the great ocean and luna mending into his fire wings. I close my eyes, I could not see my friend mending with the cold of a ghost that possessed me in the wild.

I decided not to open my eyes again, till the flash of colours disappear from my senses.

Overtime, I knew where I was. I was laying in my room. I had slept with a blank page resting on my chest and the blue pen by my side, uncovered to its tip. As if the blue ink kissed the empty space of my dreams and gave another idea to write. I was lost into a vision, but my blood took me back to my senses. The blue of the moon made me dream, but the red of the sun had arrived in the sky and I was late for my morning class.

The Coloured Truth

An expression from this universe,

The rhythm of our hearts,

The assemblance of the stars,

Colours of the hopes far apart,

Are we drunk in illusions and scars ?

For all we see is dark.

The colour unknown,

Filled within our vision for the globe,

We might have ordaned our planet with colours,

But they keep fading in the space of the rooms,

As if they set like the sun into the night,

And never return to embark the truth of life,

Sciences pounder over this painting of illusions,

And someday they will bring out the frame,

Years to years, we will be decieved by shades of immitation.

As if literature held the core of this universe,

And everything meant out meant in,

Do we feel the darknes within us ?

Darkness all around and inside,

But what colour is it, unknown.

The colour we cant fathom to our conscience and lores,

Something as bright as invisible to our light,

Somwehere where the frames dont fit to remind the night,

And the where the sun resides over every ally.

Where dark embraces through light,

And there is no colour undefied.

-Sagar Arora