I squat and move my finger in the small puddle of mud that instantly resists the change. Obstinate, proud and uncompromising. It harbours a picture of a scene lost in the chasms of time. A reflection, purer than the ones boasted by mirrors and so more than the ones perceived by eyes. Vivid. Clear and perpetually unnoticed. An ephemeral jewel kissed by squalid soles of shoes, hued by the saliva of the populace, and vivified and odored by the ammoniated urine of many, for once, united in purpose. But yet, it remains as resilient as ever. A yellow tinted perspective for many, yet it's a visage of the world projected through the sheen of the mud with countless layers to unravel.
A world coagulated by the carrion of dead, clamorous emotions that live with the people who emote but devoid of purpose. And the people, trapped in the quagmire of their own senseless values and principles that never cease to fail. But this tragedy is never short of good humor. For, the people, even till their dying breaths, as they choke on their own puke of emotions and succumb to the trust, never see past the obvious and inevitable.
The world exudes. Ebullience, pain, misery, torment, joy, sunlit days, long kisses under the blanket of rain, pride, trust, love, fear, darkness, moonlit skies, sprinkled stars, verdant landscapes. It exudes blood flowing from the long deep gashes. It speaks of the deflowered souls, silent screams, glittering tears and the morbidity that surrounds. Of shattered dreams, and broken trusts. Of failure, of rejection. Of insatiated desires and temptations. Of expectations and loyalty. Of incomprehensible, vindictive rage. Of insane, malicious drives.
It contrives to let you live with them. To embrace these emotions and get addicted while they ooze your life out.
We live, we die. And this hollow existence never surprises any one. We remain confined to the joys and trusts, and the necessity of it all while the noose slowly tightens one day at a time..
A raindrop falls from the heaven's brink, disintegrating into transient moments of beginnings and ends and meets its fate in the puddle mingling in the joys and sorrows of the hopeless population. And from the ripples it creates in there, I see a blurry image, slightly formed, of white light and a sunlit dawn..
I get up and dust off my knees, whilst someone steps over the puddle. And I walk on, humming quietly, in search of another puddle, another story...