(From Pages of my Diary)
The Midnight came with a beautiful solitary tune of a flute!
A cresent shaped moon adore the sky with the very threat of those floating white clouds ..the leaves of the trees shaking as if with a soft touch of a woman..
Outside the window the world looks like a fairy tale..and this reigning framed moment of dream may be what it is called peace indeed..and these moments..each single grain of time are precious as they departs with twinkle and a new comes. but this momentary vision isn’t it all? As time goes on..night..then day..then again night..as if in a brilliant rhythm set by nature..like a strings of a tanpura..
But still we are in a run..just running ..for what I suppose no one knows..Where? That is too uncertain.
Me too running and running like an hypnotized maniac..
And in the process we often speak some words which are half understood..
Write Thousand undeciphered letters and words..
And thus it seems like that We are like in a journey ..when with the whistle of a train ..our journey is on..the magic of known people..unknown faces..different stories..shades of silence..in black and white..a strange game of departing in dark and coming back to light continues..running stations like cascades..the sudden halt in a lonely station..
As if I am no one..as if I am someone..as if I am nowhere..yet somewhere.. and in search of words and a different meaning ..of life..and love..
Like the sudden stop of no signal the train start moving again..as if it has crossed its speculated hour of existence and presence in this particular mapless remote station..
The outer world of silence breaks and again starts running..
Along with us..
And in its way with a striking thunder streak of lightning..
In the Bluish light ..a cry..a cry of the midnight..
One finds..the earth is shaking
And then getting broken into
Piesces and piesces..
A naked Primitive earth is shining in an ageless light of the moon and the stars..
One find..there there is a meaning..
There is an answer.. of thousand unanswered questions..
Somewhere being written..
Like the last words of Tagore..
“The First sun of the First day
The new born soul
Who are you?
No answer came.
Years passed and passed
And the Last Sun of the Last day
Uttered the Last Question
On the Western Ocean..
Who are you?
No Answer came!”