Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Golden Song

Once upon a time, in a rather disturbed universe, there was a story teller. He travelled far and wide, telling tales to anyone who would lend him a ear.
And when he was too old to travel, he settled in the far corner of the planet, alone, amidst the trees that never tired of his voice.
One day, he went for a long walk. And as he reached a river bed, he saw long stretches of dark mud that was wet from the water and gleaming in the sun.
The story teller picked up a twig and for the first time in his life, began to write. He wrote a song that ran into a hundred lines.
And as soon as he was done, the song turned into a golden bird that flew away instantly.

The bird flew far and wide, dropping a feather every now and then. She would fly by day and rest at night - whenever she found a branch that could shelter her tired wings. And she would sing the story teller's song.

And as people slept in their beds, they would dream of a bird with a song in her heart and the song would bring unknown tears to their eyes.
The song spoke of a time that was innocent, when people understood the values that were innate. A time when no one would hurt another person or kill out of hate.

Years passed by and the song travelled across the globe - never changing.

And after ten years, the feather the bird had dropped turned into wondrous trees that bore deep green leaves and flowers that were so fragrant that people were intoxicated by its smell and colour.

Soon, the bird's journey was over and it returned home.
The far corner of the universe where the storyteller resided had not changed. Only he had turned old, barely able to walk.
The bird settled on the storyteller's porch as the frail man poured his evening tea, she turned to him and said, "I have done your bidding. Your song is in every heart now. You are now free."

The storyteller closed his eyes and smiled. "For every story that I have said and the only song I've ever written, I owe you everything."

The golden bird spread its vast wings and took the old man under them. "Then we are both free."

And as two spirits escaped in a sigh from a world that continues to remain tortured, a slight blink of hope reappeared in a few bodies across the universe. And with every drop of blood that was shed, a soul re-entered the universe with the promise of love and peace.

Friday, September 17, 2010

such it is...

They say I live in the past. Wrapped around its little finger, I swing my life around memories that are either dark, clouded or crystal.
What do I do with a present that has no familiar aroma. No old dusty corners I can stare at and smile at for no reason.
What do I do with a future that seems to belong to someone else?
And what on earth could I possibly do with a heart that seems rather useless?

And what on earth do I do with a reflection that I no longer recognise?