Friday, March 18, 2011

The Holi Eve, 2011

He lay on the bed; dreaming.
A butterfly came near his eyes, and started fluttering its paper wings noisily.
He lifted open his fatigue-laden eye-lids, and caught a blur of colours, too close in sight.
He wished to destroy it.
Raising a scarred hand towards it, he aimed at the source of noisy colours.
His fingers curled around the still-alive butterfly.
He felt the soft structures shaking with apparent frolic, within his grasp.
The tingling sensation was confusing.
Out of focus, out of focus.
Tiny rice-sized lights lit up, one by one, across the entire maze of tread-upon, and un-tread-upon tracks.
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the details of the wings, that still flapped against his skin.
He imagined they were red, yellow, blue, green, and a host of loud colours, all in the world that lay confined in his hand.
He held it tighter, wishing the riot to last forever.
Suddenly, a high-pitched young voice screamed.
It echoed around the walls.
And the movement stopped.
Jerked back to reality for the second time, the over-wrought mind urged its optical devices to go back to work.
As the reluctant palm unfolded, they saw the life-less insect.
Dirty white, grey, black and innumerable shades of their blends.
The moth looked at the large pair of mirrors weighing down upon him.
Then, it went to sleep, forever.

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