Home
I wonder why I
was there. But from the window of my room, the endlessly looming street
appeared like a pathway to Arcadia. I saw its end gleaming with an austere
lambency similar to a widow’s tear. It all appeared like a conjurer’s trick but
then again… maybe it was…
The night
looked like the soaked remains of a once burning carcass. The rain had been
friendly in the evening and stuck around till the night like an overtly
compassionate lover. The day had been hot, very hot, and the hefty downpour had
been a necessary relief… till the time the amount of relief exceeded the
necessity and now all but remained was a murky street with black pools of water
shining at its end like polished onyx.
Beautiful
crystal droplets formed at the top of the windowpane, silvery blue with the
image of the world in it, and in the next instant abdicating its hold from the
wooden frame… free falling… a leap of faith… till it crashed in the palms of my
hand and slipped through the gaps between my fingers taking another leap…
finally the droplets formed a pool of their own beneath the window. Broken
glasses and wooden splinters lay in the debris beside the pool which shone like
emerald… unlike the onyx one… which had previously caught my eye…
Listlessly I
put on my boots and walked out my homely premise, pushing apart the heavy steel
gates with all my brawn. It seemed the rain had added strength to the metallic
gate whilst depleting some of mine. The heavy downpour had subsided to a
moderate drizzle. I had cared enough to carry an umbrella but it seemed the
night wished for a discourse as I looked up… and saw the heavens… it was dark
as obsidian with globules of grey floating beneath that giant pearl in the sky
overlooking the onyx pool.
I stepped out;
a wet chilling breeze surged passed me and slapped me across the face. It felt
pure and scouring, like a mother’s woeful slap, indeed Mother Nature was sad
and angry for she had wept all though the evening and even in the night. And
here I was impeding her peaceful rest after a prolonged state of mourn, I
deserved a tighter slap… she had been too kind…
From the
window, the intricate details remain hidden in the murky and sombre street. On
a closer view, the smaller things sprang to liveliness. A suckling huddled
inside the warmth of her mother’s embrace, a shelter from the drizzle, the
suckling nibbled at the tips of its mother’s fingers, sucking and biting,
asking to be fed. In a moments time the suckling was drinking its mother’s
nectar, arduously draining out the milk from her swollen breasts. She looked
tired and weary; another suckling approached, feeling jealous it started
bawling relentlessly waking the three who slept nearby and a few more inside. I
left her at her dismay.
Further a bunch
of boys were playing a game of paper boats and were setting them at the firth
of a runnel. They were to chase the boats through their journey downstream till
finally the victor boats reached the end of the runnel at the onyx pool. Some
boats crashed against the stream, some sank midway owing to faulty craftsmanship,
some collided amongst themselves and some sailed heroically through the ebb and
flow. Amidst the chaos, the group of boys ran alongside, the order decreasing
by one as each boat crashed. The captain would fall back to attend its fallen
galley, as the rules implied. I remembered playing this game in my childhood; I
was always the faulty craftsman. At the egress, the water had accumulated to
form the onyx pool, where a lone child stood with a soaked boat in his hand and
head high with honour. Drops of water trickled down his brow and fell on the
paper boat; the child wiped it clean and raised his left hand signalling
triumph… The Columbus of my street with his immaculate carrack, La Santa Maria…
Lost in his
conquest, I had unknowingly stepped on a pile of muck and filth. Drenched garbage
accumulated at one side of pool, stench of faeces and morass filled the
environment. On the opposite bank of the pool, an old man lay inside his
shelter of plastic shed and weathered bricks. His face marked by scar tissues, deep
wrinkles and soot on his pale cheeks. He blew out clouds of smoke, making it
harder for me to see his eyes. I understand a man by his eyes, but the old man
shut out that option.
A bitch
meandered close to him, waggling her tail. She licked his face clean; the old
man got startled and dropped his smoke in the onyx pool... A hiss of smoke and
steam…a painful grimace drew across his face signifying disgust, hate, anger? I
could not comprehend for it quickly turned to a smile. He clasped the
bitch’s head in his hand and kissed her on the forehead. The man cuddled the
beast in his warm laggard arms and placed her under a torn quilt spoilt by the
rain. As he turned his eyes caught mine, grim and mucus laden they were, but
spoke a word which never had a more defining significance…
‘Home’
The old man was
at home than I have ever been; I couldn’t bear to watch him any longer. I turned
around quickly and starting walking back. I saw Columbus sleeping on a single
cot while his friends slept in groups of twos or threes around the cot. To the
victor goes the spoils of war, I thought… A smile on his face, the comfort of
home after a gruesome battle…
Further the
mother held a myriad of children in her arms… six… seven… or even more… her
eyes deep closed, moonlight shone across her face. She looked beautiful. The sucklings
grabbing onto every inch of her beautiful gleaming body, her arms around them like a giant cloak of
comfort. She was their resort, their refuge… their… home…
I was tired of
watching, I hurried across them and pressed my hands against the metal doors,
it took more strength then before to move those iron barriers. The gates opened
with a crash, rain had improved from a faint drizzle to a light deluge and I had
lost the umbrella somewhere.
Soaked in Mother
Nature’s tears, I gazed upon the house in front of me.
Home Finally. I thought
Or am I?
He left a home they called his house
For a house they call his home
They made a ghost out of a human being
Now that ghost forever roams
And this is how we are fading…
And this is how we are fading…
Such effortless detail...Such brilliant imagery...
ReplyDeleteThe piece builds at each step to its destination yet the reader recognises this only when he/she is done reading.CLASS.
Sir you're surely meant for great things in life...
you honor me more than i deserve... i yearn to achieve a higher echelon of literature and language, and i modestly attempt to climb one step at a time... your words are too kind, i thank you for that...
Deleteyou know whats the best part of your writing, its the way you relate to the reader. even more how it builds up while one reads and by the end... everyone wants more. more my friend, more!
ReplyDeletethanks man, for the lovely comment... and more i shall deliver...
DeleteOnce again a maestar shows his brilliance, another shining metal in ur chain....
ReplyDeletei wish for the chain to be heavier than any other maester's chain in all of seven kingdoms... i thank you for sparing a few moments for this post...
Delete