Durdana Bhat
Some people speak about the wound core. And some people are like a cloud loaded with moisture. Some think that wind is no longer relevant as summer passes. Yet, all day we see that the autumn shortens daylight gold and thwarted imagination comes astir.
For a moment, the wind rolled the tide, furled there all night, grunting and sighing. And death kept staring like a dream.
Often I think I could have counted beads, as waves were coming my way but I was bit ill at their numbers. I didn’t know what was coming. If it would have been known to me, I would have gone with it.
I, a cloudless sky do not need frost mist to answer wind. Aye, I am no cloud. But the lighting continued inquiring me, saying “the fate has spread out against sky, let me go, I will visit.”
How could I let him to visit the fathomed depths of my doom, because I know that one day there will be an enquirer about ends of my days and ways?
But…
Will there be anyone, who will ask about me? Who will talk about me? Who will remember? I know I am departing from the entire domain. And I even know that with a blink of an eye, I will be a long forgotten snow.
Wait a second; I really hurt my heart to remember the days and nights, when I, as a cloud stirred around the sky. Even I faced the sun in a flash, never showed the lesions that melted in me. And then, I kept hovering.
A day came when the thunder storm and lighting came astir. They roared, wailed and mewled. Asked me to depart, called for release. And this time I didn’t ask them to stay. You know: my demesne was about to drown. How could I tell them to halt?
Then with no option left, I released them. Suddenly, everything felt fated. I heard voices that I couldn’t elude. Finally, my day and night came to end, my hovering came to luff.
Flash: I wasn’t found by then.
