Its beauty lies within the indecisiveness of
its elements. I can’t decide if life is trying to reach out to it or if it is
trying to desert it, leaving it in the middle with no closure. I was left once
in the middle with no closure; left to dig out my way, my path, out of it all. These
brown, dry branches hanging down, reaching to the stone building, seem to grow
little leaflets. The building has this mystical mischief sense of grandness and
dismay; a part of a grandeur that was taken away from it, when it was taken
down from the fortress to which it was assigned to be part of. The maybe old,
high-tower-chamber surrounded by these thick trees, a forest maybe, tickles my
sense of danger, yet I feel tranquil.
It’s the green that’s crawling up these ancient
stones like venomous vines, still padding the harsh edges of the paving rocks
in the entrance of the circular edifice with softness; inviting me in, yet
keeping me out. The stone fence surrounding the trees is keeping land and water
intact; water to water and ground to ground, like ashes to ashes and dust to
dust. It’s the deadly liveliness in this scene that bewilders me. The slight turbulence
in this greenish water surrounding the only thing that stands up right seems so
still, adding beauty to the curios composition.
It sounds like I’m describing me more than
describing the scene; projecting my tired and restless soul on a deserted
stone-cold tower chamber, cut off magnificence to swim down the static stream of
life and desolation, seeking to reach a land that it can call home.
A stone of green padding at its feet
A grandeur stolen, yet clung to fiercely
A sense of impossibility
A soulless projection on a lively death
A contrast of black and white
Dark and light
Water encircling sharp edged rocks
Standing up straight between the twisted
branches
Of brown decay
As little green life
Trying to escape them
It’s a gate, a hollow shape in the center
As dark as night
Fighting the mist pushing it down to the ground
As dark as night
Under the burning, rising sun
Welcome back to Takhayyal, Rana.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful piece. I enjoyed the prose and poem and I like how each of them can actually standalone/be read separately.
Well done with this one.
These were my favourite lines:
"Standing up straight between the twisted branches
Of brown decay
And little green life"
Keep on writing
Glad u liked it and I'm happy to be back
DeleteGlad u liked it and I'm happy to be back
Delete