Dancing Fireflies…

“Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”

Henry Rollins

…and here I am,in the midst of nowhere,burnt by the moonless sky;cold,helpless,tired;lying on my bed waiting for the morning.Waiting impatiently for the first sunlight to see me,waiting for the first drop of dew to fall upon me and dissolve me in itself,for the birds to welcome tomorrow,I am waiting to open my eyes and see my bruises caused by my own hands.

I am not sure I was 9 or 10 that time,but it was summer.Yes it was summer,I can smell it,can feel the dust rising from the field.As if I am running;bare feet,to catch my kite.

It was the first time,when I saw those dancing fireflies in my garden.Ah! what a beauty.I used to sit near my window for hours and used to watch them dance with their glowing tails.They seemed very happy.I didn’t knew what poetry was, but believe me for that 9-year-old kid,the dancing fireflies were poetry in motion,was his essence of life.!

I cannot describe their motion for you,but when ever I feel sad,and close my eyes,I see them glow in front of me,calling me back to those innocent times of my life.I feel them,when I achieve something.When I punch my fist in the air;I stop for a while and see them laugh with me in my happiness,I am also sometimes taken back to the beautiful summer when for no reason I feel on the top of the world.

But right now I am chained,chained by the same night,who once showed me the path of happiness.Tonight I am here in the midst of nowhere,burnt by my own hands.Rusted,by my own deeds.Lying expressionless,because of my own expressions and lifeless because of my own greed.

I was waiting for the morning,and I am hit by the Sun at last.I am alive once again,for now I have given away all my pain to the same old night.

And like those dancing fireflies,I realized.Even I am burning in sorrow.But the beauty of life is to keep dancing,because you never know,somewhere a 9-year-old kid might be gazing at you right now from a window,and that will change his entire definition of life.

You Inspired me once again.!

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I don’t know you, I can’t see you,can’t touch you.Sometimes I see you in my dreams,but its very hard for me to remember you,lying on my bed,under my warm blanket in a cold morning,I try to figure your face.But believe me with eyes wide open its quite difficult to find you.

This is a very busy world where I am living,lot of noise.Wherever I see,I find men running endlessly.Days passes very quickly,you don’t feel anything,people die,crime and corruption take over,you don’t say anything.I am here busy in my rat race,trying to achieve something.SOMETHING I don’t know,everyday I ask this to myself…NO ANSWER!!!

But then something happens,something very strange.You enter the classroom,you see faces-talking,shouting,laughing.You can’t listen anything,everything is in absolute slow motion.You don’t care who waves at you,who smiles at you.You pull out the chair,you can feel the chair move,but can’t hear anything.Its like a dream,rather a very distinct dream.A very strange feeling.And then the teacher enters,you get up,walk up to the dice.Legs shaking,no matter how good you are at public speaking,still you can listen your heart beats getting louder,you take a deep breath,open your eyes and read out The Brook to the entire class.

Ah! You feel alive,each word you read,you feel like honey dripping from your tongue,you don’t want it to finish,everything is back to normal,you see some  looking at you,some looking at their watch,and hear some talking.But you stand out there and read a masterpiece from history,and feel a part of it,you flow along the brook,you often look at the black-and-white picture of the brook and wish,you were there,you wish to flow with it,wish to be a part of it.

But the sad part is,hardly anybody understands,you wish you could make them feel the cold breeze,you wish you can make them count those half-a-hundred bridges,you wish you could make them visit Philip’s farm,make them touch and feel those forget-me-nots and make them fall in love.

You come back home,lie down,listen to the piano playing on your computer,and read James Allen,you don’t realize who turned off the light,took out your glasses and gave you the blanket.The only thing you remember is you getting up the next morning gazing wide and trying really hard figuring,what amazing dream you saw.

You think what it was,that inspired you,was it The Brook,The Piano or Mr.James Allen.You don’t know.You don’t know because you were too busy running that you have forgotten yourself.You like a deer kept wandering in search of the musk that you posses deep inside yourself.You like a fool forgot that it was YOU that inspired you all day and will inspire throughout your life.

Still you will thank others for inspiring you,and very shamelessly will keep on blabbering-“You inspired me once again”.!