It’s morning. It’s a good morning, I suppose. People must be on their tracks already. Getting busy in their chores. No different from any other days.
I keep watching. I keep watching the sun. The sun on the top of the boughs. The sun on the leaves, on the veins, climbs twig by twig. I don’t know where the sun goes. I chased him several times but he moved on farther, I lagged. I’ve inserted myself in the sun.
I keep watching the magpie sitting against my barred window. There were some other species also, beautiful as usual. They sang. Do they really sing? Whatever, I don’t know. A zoologist may know. May be they were quarreling over an insect. No! they don’t quarrel. It is human that quarrels. I keep watching . Sometimes they (may be the male or female) attract or allure their partners through beautiful demonstrations.
I was the bird, the beautiful creature, the magpie, the nightingale, the vulture, the lark . I was a bird from premeditated period. It may be a year, a decade or a century or may be more than that. It was splendid. I travelled on air, from heaven to heaven. I had my meal on the floating clouds. I sat on the sun, drank from the moon. I winged through the milky way. It was splendid.
I keep watching. I keep watching how light changes. The sweet warm rays, the fiery spark, the gentle deem glow and then a cold, musty blessing. I keep watching.
I keep watching. I keep watching the children. The boys, the girls with their mirth, hardly have passed their childhood. Their gaily face, Their playful words and carousal take me to their flight. I was with those light once. I insert my dream-children in them. I pour myself into them those muddy fields, those playmates, those early blossoms, those flies in the autumn and winter that I chased miles after miles. I flied with the fly too. I was the the fly. I was the fields. I was the exotic hum, the words. I was what you had been. I keep watching the boys on road. I keep watching the children lagging with their school bag. I see myself in them.
I keep watching. I keep watching my front window teen neighbor. I see her drying her hair in the sun. I see her singing on an ancient note. May be a romantic one. She admires the sun, the breeze. Her innocent eyes get overwhelmed by the dance of the flowers. She wonders! She dreams. She dreams of a handsome young man riding on Pegasus. He lands on the roof of the chanted tower where she is imprisoned. He fights with dragons and demons, then captures my front window neighbor. I keep watching. I keep watching, they walk on the dump road touching, sometimes grasping each others fingers. And quickly takes them apart in shy. I keep them watching. I don’t know, where they go each everyday dangling their toes. I just keep watching. The couple who move on the road was no one else but it was us. It was me with you, my dear. We were. We are. We will be. I inserted my soul in every lover of the world. I enjoyed their every single touch. I woed for their torment. I was nobody but you, my dear. Yes, it was me, the witness.
I keep watching. I keep watching the saints, the Prophets, the Gurus. They live on the air. I see their glittering eyes, their unstained faces. I see them making love with the God, the ever bright Light. I see them playing spell over the lovely birds, to the venomous cobra. They talk with the sharpest claw. They laugh. It laughs. It was the Light above the light.
I keep watching. I keep watching the lad returning home after a day-long journey to school- tuition-longing. I see his muddy shirt wet in sweat. Sometimes he rides on his Hero-Cycle. I see the boy after his two locked beloved who still is confused. I see them in their secret meeting over the half damaged wall of the house, sometimes in that small cafe. They talk, they laugh, they stare each other. Their eyes speak, not they. Time ceases itself. Or lets it run where it wishes. Soon they finish their session. They dream for the morning. I insert myself in them. I was their desire. I was the pain of the boy who cried night after night for not being able to say those three magical words. I was the blush of the girl when the boy first touched her finger. I was their innocent immature plan for the future. I was the color of these two fair creature. I was the great storm when she was taken apart. I waited. I waited for their return. But there is no return.
I keep watching. I keep watching a bare muddy inn far away from the habitation. I found a lamp with its fainted fire. The fire is tired of burning. It only now waits for a blow. A blow towards the eternity. Then it is morning again; a good morning, I guess.