Such a kaleidoscopic pattern of emotions have rushed through the tired veins over the past few days. Don’t know if it’s at all possible to pick them one by one and analyse closely, without my eyes getting burnt from the fumes of the past.
I wonder how it feels like to be a star.
Burning , burning and burning till every bit of your existence is no more than a black hole, at the end of the day, only to twinkle “Like a diamond in the sky.” Really, is it worth it?
Have you ever wondered how would a star feel if it were to explode into a plethora of unfulfilled galactic destinies? And then shower its ambiguity on a soul until the tear dries out.
“Shed, shed thyself on mine and me, with but a fleeting ray out of thy million millions” (Walt Whitman)
A fairy tale was knocking at my door, I never addressed that, as I chose to elope with the ghost of my past. And even though Time was rocking my cradle to put me into an insulated sleep, a drop of Fear and two drops of sweltered half-baked Dreams flowered into a lullaby that would never ever wake me up from the cold dark abyss of slumber I fell into.
I met a Rainbow.
I met a Rainbow at my horizon.
Found him bleeding into a diffident sunflower, too scared to look up. A sudden explosion of uncensored Care followed some hushed footsteps of a new-born heart, and later all that lay was the murmur of dried leaves.
Nobody would have cared to see a mirror there. A reflection of a soul projected onto a piece of opaque glass. But there it showed, a rainbow, glistening with the smell of sunlight, lined by drops of tears.
I cared to plunge into a Midnight dream, and found myself standing beneath a Starry Sky, a timid grass-flower adorning my hair.
A string of echoes followed. Echoes of My dreams carefully preserved within another dream, yet too nascent to walk by themselves.
“Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.” (Christina Rosetti)
Many winter afternoons later, millions of teardrops later, I want to wake up from that dream on a Monsoon morning. So that I can still breathe in the aroma of rain-soaked earth. So that I can still see the shooting star from my window and pray for the Universe to soothe in Peace.
I want to see through the kaleidoscope and see a butterfly drenched in pollen, a star still twinkling and teardrops still glistening around moist corners of the heart.
Till then, Let me dream.