The bottle clanged by the dark corner of his room, as he looked at the ceiling fan which were diffracting the light from the tube , he saw a demon rise and fall in the shadows that darted across his ceiling - now rising now falling, now bellowing balls of fire ,smoke and ashes, now stabbed at the heart by a hero born out of the same ashes. As his gaze went over yonder, he could see little children playing in the garden and the sound of rain mingled with their laughter as the shadows lengthened and all sounds faded into the darkness, until all he was left with was the silence of his sorrow and pain and the feeling of head spinning around. He fell unconscious.
The river was flowing at its own ease, singing its own song, scurrying along at her own pace. Her voice echoed through the mountains and mixed with the fountains and added to the freshness of the water that fell onto the rocks - blessed are their souls to be bathed by such sanctity. She had to rush down like everyday to meet her lover the Sea, who like a true lover stood there waiting with his arms wide open. Everyday, every moment, all she wanted was to rush into the arms of her lover. Her smiles, her songs, her freshness, her life, everything was bundled into a singular intent - of being in her lovers embrace.
He woke up dazed. A very bad dream it was. He shook his head and pulled out a pitcher from the bucket lying near his bed and started drinking of it. The freshness of the water that hit his lips lifted his spirits like notes of music rising to a crescendo, like a woman seduced into a state of absolute nothingness, until the realization came crashing down on him - his love was no more. The nightmares seemed childish, the headache seemed like a itch from the past, subdued, dead. He grasped his hair, and letting out a frantic yell put his head on his palms and started wailing.
His home, his bed has been this little device, cleverly designed to keep the crippled living, giving them the illusion of freedom. Who wants to live with a crippled ? Every day he woke up, he left a ray of hope that his love would come for him. Everyday he took his world, his wheelchair and himself to the Metro station and waited patiently, with a smile on his face for his love to come.
Who will tell him, she is dead ? Who will break his heart ? Is it not better to let someone live in the illusion of hope. Is it not better to let someone get up everyday and think that something different is going to happen and that their life is going to change.
Maybe it is. Maybe it is not.
Even today you can see him outside the A____ metro station, a smile on his face, a dream in his eye. Will you dare to break his hope ? Will you dare to break him? Will you ?
The river was flowing at its own ease, singing its own song, scurrying along at her own pace. Her voice echoed through the mountains and mixed with the fountains and added to the freshness of the water that fell onto the rocks - blessed are their souls to be bathed by such sanctity. She had to rush down like everyday to meet her lover the Sea, who like a true lover stood there waiting with his arms wide open. Everyday, every moment, all she wanted was to rush into the arms of her lover. Her smiles, her songs, her freshness, her life, everything was bundled into a singular intent - of being in her lovers embrace.
He woke up dazed. A very bad dream it was. He shook his head and pulled out a pitcher from the bucket lying near his bed and started drinking of it. The freshness of the water that hit his lips lifted his spirits like notes of music rising to a crescendo, like a woman seduced into a state of absolute nothingness, until the realization came crashing down on him - his love was no more. The nightmares seemed childish, the headache seemed like a itch from the past, subdued, dead. He grasped his hair, and letting out a frantic yell put his head on his palms and started wailing.
His home, his bed has been this little device, cleverly designed to keep the crippled living, giving them the illusion of freedom. Who wants to live with a crippled ? Every day he woke up, he left a ray of hope that his love would come for him. Everyday he took his world, his wheelchair and himself to the Metro station and waited patiently, with a smile on his face for his love to come.
Who will tell him, she is dead ? Who will break his heart ? Is it not better to let someone live in the illusion of hope. Is it not better to let someone get up everyday and think that something different is going to happen and that their life is going to change.
Maybe it is. Maybe it is not.
Even today you can see him outside the A____ metro station, a smile on his face, a dream in his eye. Will you dare to break his hope ? Will you dare to break him? Will you ?
