The past is dark. Dark is the color. But something dark has no color perhaps or is it the mixture of every color that has made it so dark, colorless- such that it doesn’t reflect any color. Can color – the crayons paint a painful picture? Well, the mixture of a lot of colors can make it ugly thing. Dark is vacant, hollow ultimately leading one to the moment of feelinglessness, beinglessness. How much is it important to feel something in its own true essence?
I feel like an old tree. That has survived for lets say hundred years. Have been through so much of sunshine, colorful leaves, ripen fruits and old branches. I love the birds that come and shelter within me. I look at them and smile. Their love makes me to turn my cold branches into green, blue, yellow, red and pink. I become band of seven colors with smelling flowers blooming over the thousand branches of mine. Everywhere there is bloom- Well, this is spring. Everything matches with every other thing.
Then, these birds fly away. Leaving their nest empty. Vacant part above me hurts me like anything. I weep in silence and the sky competes with me. It shows me more anger in the form of thunder, storm and rain. Makes me wet, makes me cold, tries to remove away the nest, fills the nest with water. Immediately after, Sun comes to punish me for the sin that I commit for loving the birds as I am not supposed to love any birds. Because love is an illusion, the Sun says. Almost burning me with the heat, sun dries me up, dries the leaves, flowers and the ripen fruits- they fall in the ground and die. Ripen fruits : They are the ripen dreams that fall and die when it is becomes most fit to be recognized. Continue reading