Times have always stood the rust and lived forever…
I wish if only I could break the clock in the moment I found it. “wasted was every second from my first blink to my last..” I say to my self as I realize now what I was missing out on by spending the wealth of words for a cause that would eventually go in vain.
For years now I have been trying to find a picture. A picture that seemed so blur and distant, a picture so lost in time that I went across sailing the waters to every accidental mermaid who made me think the beauty resided in the lore of their shine. But it was only when I found the blur picture I felt the false shine of every mermaid made me blind to the actual beauty of the ocean’s horizon which, upon it’s most majestic day would look insanely a mere reflection of that picture’s common day’s beauty.
Now as I speak, I feel that picture that I was always alienated to is finally clearing out with the flames of the sun falling into the depths of the blue waters and burring it black with ashes rising across the skies, leaving the sparks of white in the burnt heavens. If I were only a writer I would find ways to compare that view of tamed flame to the spark of the glowing tear of love in that picture that I have lived a life to witness.
As I envy the writer who eases his way with the words of description. I take a look at that picture, shocked as I wipe my tear filled eyes to see the color turning deeper and the brush strokes on that picture going sharper. The silent breath of relief makes me look at the skies once again, this time to find the birth of smoke through my mouth welcoming the flake of the frozen emotion, the clouds trying to display their jealousy. Mixing the re-lit candle’s ray to every morsel of the falling glass they battle with the colors in that picture, only to end up on the losing side which makes me aloft to the throne of the king to whom we must all answer.
As they weep over a loss to the mystic beauty of the glorious picture, the pieces of the white chilled flags of peace waved by the forces give way to the army of green and all pure color, last launch from the arsenal to reclaim their meadow. They wage a war upon the picture and watch every last solider fall from their station of brown, bleeding as they fall and turning red. Now I visit their memorial and read their graves which in common say “died at the hands of perfection”…
I walk back to the picture as the winds bring to me the cleared dust from it, anxious to find what face was hiding behind the blur I reach the canvas. The sheets is what I pull off to find the truth behind the treasured picture…
It was a painting of a woman….
Though I was Watching her since the last year I feel I only did see her once and only once.. I cursed myself when I realized the picture I was looking for was right in front of me, as I looked over her head trying to find the shadow which already was connected to me, I found a few pointers that only showed me back to where she was. I realized I was plagued by the disease of heartlessness and turned blind to the canvas, but when I touch this shirt of mine now as I look at the picture that displays my life’s treasure in her, I feel this prisoner heart wanting to break out to a world of sin where he must only be held captive in her arms till the end of time. I find no meaning in words when I try to play the part of a writer, as I was left as blank as a the white canvas which only wanted to bath in her colors.
Mad hope of crisp is what she added to every shimmer of light that declared hope itself. Her soul is what purified even hell when it rose upon land. The touch of her skin made me feel like I’ve walked the dessert for years with my thirst for a bond of skin only quenched now. As the colors filled the air today I only sensed the need to feel her even more. The placid of this heart, is what she turned into a turmoil sea! I know now that it is she to whom the horizons bow, it is she to whom the burnt black night cannot compare, it is she who made the flakes of snow surrender with white and it is she who made the green leaves turn red to death trying to compare to her beauty.
It was all there and all for me, her love was mine to steal as she was the picture that I unknowingly owned, she was the lost treasure I went to seek and found, she was, still is and will always be “The Moment” that gave my life a definition. The moment that one is given a life to experience. The moment many crave for but only some find.
She is my Love and she is my moment and my definition of Life…!!!
“Dedicated to my beautiful Bride to be Devika”