She couldn't help but feel that the perfection of her life was slowly falling apart. The beauty and serenity of it had shattered into millions of lifeless shards. Before, everything had been sketched out perfectly, with utmost sureness, like the markings on a map. Her past, her present, her future. Everything.
And then, this happened. The best, the worst thing of her life. Everything changed, and she was left stumbling in the dark, caught between choosing happiness and sorrow when she couldn't even see which was which. Oh, the unfairness of it all. If she was given a chance, she might have chosen differently, but she knew that she would have stumbled in the dark either way. For, no matter the choice, she would always be discontent; left with wondering what would have happened if she had chosen the other path.
But soon, she understood. She understood that it is impossible to be content if we are always thinking about the different possibilities of different choices. For there are many futures - many, many futures. But we choose only one, and it is only by accepting this choice of ours, can we remain content in this world of many possibilities, many futures, and many choices.
And so, she decided. She knew that she could go on stumbling in the dark, wondering if she would have been happier if fate had taken a different turn. Or, she could be content, believe that this is the happiest she could get, and accept that given the choice again, she wouldn't choose any other way.
So, she put the shards back together, piece by piece, the millions of lifeless shards. Slowly, patiently, she built back, breathed life into them. And when she was done, she felt stronger than ever before.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Man and the Tree
'Perhaps the tree is happy this way', thought the old man to himself, 'standing proud and tall, looking upon the world in the most graceful manner.' He knew that time passed slowly for a tree as old as this one. But as he looked closer he realized that the tree glowed with a surprising, unexpected radiance. Its entire being seemed to bathe in true wisdom and enlightenment.
The old man couldn't help but feel that such reminisces were a sign of upcoming senility, but reminiscing he was. Off late, the tree had become an obsession. He had played around the tree as a little boy, sat under it to study and think about the wonders of the world as a young man, and even brought his wife to this very tree, when it was in full bloom, pink and white flowers scattering the ground.
However, in all his years of acquaintance with this tree, he had never bothered to give a second thought to the tree itself. Now, as an old man, he felt as though he was a part of the tree- he felt its- no- her (for the tree seemed to be a she) essence floating around, finding its way into him. Somehow, in the most uncanny and almost literal way, his life had revolved around the tree.
He slowly closed his eyes as he took in the smell of the age-old bark, and grazed his fingers over the trunk. He almost felt like he was in love with the tree, funnily so. But, he couldn't help it; the tree brought back so many nostalgic memories. So many, many, for it was right in front of his childhood home, and he laid eyes on it once every day for the first seventeen years if his life, and once every week for the last sixty.
Love, it was. But it was a different kind of love. A love so complex, he hardly knew what he was feeling. A love attached more to memories, proximity and a strange admiration than to anything else.
A love that seemed to have broken all barriers between the animate and the inanimate.
Love. That's all we need. :)
/fin
The old man couldn't help but feel that such reminisces were a sign of upcoming senility, but reminiscing he was. Off late, the tree had become an obsession. He had played around the tree as a little boy, sat under it to study and think about the wonders of the world as a young man, and even brought his wife to this very tree, when it was in full bloom, pink and white flowers scattering the ground.
However, in all his years of acquaintance with this tree, he had never bothered to give a second thought to the tree itself. Now, as an old man, he felt as though he was a part of the tree- he felt its- no- her (for the tree seemed to be a she) essence floating around, finding its way into him. Somehow, in the most uncanny and almost literal way, his life had revolved around the tree.
He slowly closed his eyes as he took in the smell of the age-old bark, and grazed his fingers over the trunk. He almost felt like he was in love with the tree, funnily so. But, he couldn't help it; the tree brought back so many nostalgic memories. So many, many, for it was right in front of his childhood home, and he laid eyes on it once every day for the first seventeen years if his life, and once every week for the last sixty.
Love, it was. But it was a different kind of love. A love so complex, he hardly knew what he was feeling. A love attached more to memories, proximity and a strange admiration than to anything else.
A love that seemed to have broken all barriers between the animate and the inanimate.
Love. That's all we need. :)
/fin
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Alone
Perhaps
It is too late.
Time, fleetingly, passes on.
Grudgingly
I tread,
Leaving it all behind.
You reach out
Only in vain,
For this journey, I must make alone.
Slivers of happiness
Wisps of memories
Dance around me, in the warm summer air.
Tempted
I touch the tiniest bubble of hope.
It bursts.
Slowly,
Stealthily,
The truth comes crashing down.
And I know
It’s too late to forgive,
I have to forget
For this journey, I must make alone.
It is too late.
Time, fleetingly, passes on.
Grudgingly
I tread,
Leaving it all behind.
You reach out
Only in vain,
For this journey, I must make alone.
Slivers of happiness
Wisps of memories
Dance around me, in the warm summer air.
Tempted
I touch the tiniest bubble of hope.
It bursts.
Slowly,
Stealthily,
The truth comes crashing down.
And I know
It’s too late to forgive,
I have to forget
For this journey, I must make alone.
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