Endurance, The Routine Of Heart #1


“Ready for the next wave?”, asked the ocean as the boy stood, wet and motionless. The ocean suddenly noticed a bright glare on his cheek and it vanished as much quickly. It was a teardrop; which was until then not visible due to the downward inclination of his face, glittered when he nodded with the slightest of movement.
‘He nodded’, realized the ocean.
“Good”, it said loudly, hoping with all heart that he was strong enough for this.

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I have written something very similar to this a long back, here : A Pebble Ashore That Never Moved.

 

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Word not, Eyes speak too…


i lay upon the meadow staring at the starlit sky,
pregnant with kind clouds watching over the world below.

whatever it was, it is only a sigh i can utter,
closing my eyes, i seek calm from the surroundings.

suddenly, an unknown feeling overtook me,
trumpeting its presence.

i looked around to see if someone was prying me,
i see none, but i could feel the presence of something overwhelming.

a tender breeze swept the meadow, washing over me,
it held my breathe.

the pain at heart was like one caused by a blizzard,
caring not who the victim was.

soothing were the pure,pious eyes,
my heart could have burned even when if it was put in ice.

only one final message, i sense,
i was not the one.

i Fear, Autumn is near…


i fear
autumn is near
gusts wail through
leaves rustling wild.

wounds seem mild,
for one who cares not
what leaves go through.

pained and unheeded,
they search for help,
nay comes never.

shimmer us with colors and air,
fresh and pleasant,
lets us live in peace.

with world at war,
they grow still,
raising us, bearing us,
motherlike.

i fear
autumn is near
winter has done all it can.

spring is far
illusions and delusions
pained and unheeded

leaves bid goodbye
pained or not
go, they have to
for no one saves them the blues
and the browns,

oh tender ones,
they wither.

who cares about them
when they lie on the floor
crumpled and crushed under our sinful feet

who cares when they are being taken away
our pretty eyes only look high
proud and insolent

resentment and atonement
i seek nay
for sins i have committed
i deserve none.

O’ leaves, thou deserves all.

i love thee
fallen or flying.

for even if there is no one you see
who cares and hugs you,
count on me.

O’ tender ones,
i cannot stop autumn
nor can i bring-forth spring

but i promise thee,
that i shall be with thou
fallen or flying.

P.S. : Leaves are a bit nervous about the onset of Autumn. 😐

a pebble ashore that never moved


A fresh wave of ocean slams ashore, slowly treading into the sand and re-moisturizing every speckle of it. The sun is at it’s usual shearing best and the reflections of the rays on the sand give the whole beach a golden furbished look. The ocean as usually looks blue due to the sky’s azure shade. The clouds seem to move fast, as if they were trying to end the day as fast as they could because they cannot see the little boy, over the shore, in distress anymore. He was standing there all day, till noon, that is now, without moving as much as an inch, as if he were a stone statue, sculpted by an artist, who, unable to withstand the pain he was experiencing, sculpted this boy statue hoping he would impart some pain into it thus reducing what he himself has to endure . Succeeded he was, if this boy, standing on this continually, water trumpeted shore was really a stone effigy. Even the sticky moisture condensing over the boy’s face due to the humid weather, which always is the nature of air around a sea coast, could not deter the boy’s grit on standing still. The ocean’s vast expanse hasn’t hindered or frightened the boy to lower his gaze from the wavy, sky-reflecting surface of it.

A drop of saline sweat starts to push up from the pores of his skin just above his brow, mixing with the moisture that has already condensed there. This mixture seems to increase the weight of the droplet, now not withstanding its increased mass, it slowly serpentines down his brow, over the left flank of his nose and the droplet makes it to his tip of the nose. As if waiting if the kid would move now, at least now, to wipe this sweat and moist mixture clinging on to his nose which definitely produces a tickling sensation, the droplet stays still as if time was frozen. But the boy never moved. The droplet sensing lost hope, un-links itself from the nose tip and falls onto the sand patch between the boy’s legs with a gentle splatter, the burble lost in the giant splashes of the ocean. The clouds had but to move on. The sun was lowering his radiant smile or maybe that was his glaring rage, but lowered it was, slowly and accurate to pixel. The sky, as if trying to signify this resentment of the sun, changes from deep azure color to a bleak orange-peach ruffle first and then to a dark orange contrast. Surely, the day has to end and the boy has to return home. The boy was still standing, his posture never changed all day. What was it he was thinking of? What was troubling him? What matter could be as such that would make him stand at this shore, as a stone statue built only to portray the endurance of this boy. He has shown what endurance is, for all of nature has seen what he has done standing there all day. The sky, the clouds, the sand, the sun, everyone and everything knew this act was of a guy who was to endure something, something mighty. But what they could see was not what it all was. Because the endurance shown by the boy was not just his standing on the shore all day but it also was his inner fight that he raged against so bravely. Yet, he knew he failed. The nature which was the witness all day wouldn’t agree, but he knew that he failed. After the sweat that could no longer stay inside his skin emanated out over his brow, at noon as we remember, and mixed with the moisture that was already on his face, the formed droplet serpentined its way to the tip of his nose. We remember the droplet losing hope and at last un-linking itself. It wasn’t that. When this saline mixture was still clinging on to his nose tip, a tear, everyone missed to see it, slipped out from his left eye and made its way to its pre-destined destination, the tip of the nose. There it thuded into the already formed droplet causing the weight to increased tauntingly and the entire blend broke away from the tip of his nose, landing on the sand quietly. He knew he failed, no different? he thought. For all he could endure was that, he did his best to hide the effects of the battle raging inside from his face. He thought, to soothe his own ravaged self, that the tear broke in when he was alone. But even though he was depressed by his failure, he was still gritty on standing there, on the shore.

Let another wave come, a wave of ocean or a wave of another inner battle.

Resolving his grit thus, he moved at last. He took a deep, peaceful intake of fresh, pristine air and slowly puffing it out as if preparing for a battle with a horde of evil spirits that’s marching towards him and which he has but to see through.

He was ready for the next wave.