I hold the summer dawn in my eyes. Somewhere in the background is the shuffling of the night shadows, listlessly shifting camps. The flutter of awakening wings and an occasional glimmer of muted light coerce the dreams to withdraw their baiting tentacles and recoil.
The gold of this new day pierces me, demanding an identity all its own, lest it too gets pressed through a copier and shelved into an almirah where all those yesterdays are neatly stacked.
How about me? I want to know. I too am afraid of the sameness of my being and the routine which has it cast in a mould. Melt, molt, remould me, a prayer escapes from the inmost adytum of the Self. Graft me wings, either that of a butterfly or of an eagle that I may flutter around or gyrate the heights, grant me solitude, either that of a chrysalis, or of the Lone Wolf, that I may lose myself in the music of deafening silence or sprint across a thousand miles of wilderness... Hammer and fashion me, either into a wayside daisy, shy and wilting, or into the mighty Baobab, supporting with its powerful boughs the leaning sky.
Dawn slips through me, metamorphosing into twilight. I lie on the grassy floor, looking up at the stars, away from home...
Ooooh! this is magical. 'The gold of this new day pierces me, demanding an identity all its own, lest it too gets pressed through a copier and shelved into an almirah where all those yesterdays are neatly stacked.’ very relatable too.
ReplyDelete'
Dawn slips through me, metamorphosing into twilight. I lie on the grassy floor, looking up at the stars, away from home...’ so lovely Seema, so, so lovely.
Thanks Reena. Glad you too can relate to it. I guess that is what makes it magical. It is as though someone has snatched the words right from your mouth.
ReplyDeleteAs most of the time, relatable experiences beautifully expressed! Love ❤ it.
ReplyDeleteThanks Jyoti!
Delete