By Akshita Srivastava
I stood tall on my vertical pole, waving and fluttering in the wind which carried the feeling of patriotism of my homeland. I was knitted just like a cloth but who knew that I would be chosen to personify dignity, reputation of happiness of millions. Even though my pole's rusted or my threads dusted, they adore me to make me keep on lighting their souls in dark just like the stars, though far away might be dead but a beam of light from their heart gives on light. For me, a human promised to take responsibility of this land and the souls that belong here. I was lifted with beatitude wrapped up in utmost respect when the little boy waved me through the joyous crowd whose eyes were filled with responsibility of protection as well as reflected the curiousness and the blissfulness of a young mind. Days passed as I looked at the vast land of vast people, while being always ready for a touch of serendipity and a task worth to give me satisfaction in aeipathy. But then, the words of a pen were broken, when an order passes just like these days, which didn't give some souls the depth of satisfaction for their homeland while the homeless were filled with happiness on the passing of that order. But these souls, confused in a state of pleasure of moments instead of prolonged happiness, built a fire in their hearts for each other. Then, at last, the lawful pen truly broke down to declare what neither I nor she ever wanted. The most fearful things do happen so that we might see both sides of a soul, so it happened. People tore each other's thoughts onto their hearts which might stay broken forever. They refer to me as a bloodstained flag, but now was the time to truly make me and the land bloodstained with false patriotism. The houses were broken, the kids were using their little fingers to give a delusion of calmness to their ears. Suddenly I felt someone lifted me up in this situation but then I felt separated from the floor as they removed my rusted pole while threw me to the edge of the ground. Now I was left in solitude, pacing back and forth remembering the way that the verbal joy was once there high up but now lays down in soil among the weeds who don't know the glimpses of civility. The good old friend, wind, carried me high, just like me it showed the different versions of a soul in mysterious times. I flew high with my thoughts beneath me in the vast land that might last. Suddenly a hurdle in wind left me on the railings of the staircase where once a mother cried for being forcefully departured from her child, I couldn't help but feel it. Again, rose high above the screaming voices and landed on a window pane that once drained the rain and imagined to gain civility, everything might not last here but this pane will remain again to explain the fear of the old man that put a chain round it, showed immense audacity but could only picture to save his grandchildren. I couldn't help but picture the feeling. I slipped and flipped on the ground just like the people, found myself on a stone with letters of a name carved in it, how respect and sympathy I might show to the one who left this world just to save me, while now all that is left is the person's grace in faith. I couldn't help but sympathize. Once again it was twilight while I drifted far away, while watching people shooting in anger then showing falsely fading happiness. No one was spared, even the sacred. I found myself in the grass among the stones but found a soul not thinking about the visions of fear and fright, but just tried to soldier on with the stars as she gazed them with truthfulness while lying on the rocks with a pencil and trying to remove the wrinkles of anger from the crumpled piece of paper as she flattened it. She looked far at the vast sky, just like that vast land and felt alive. Though little thoughts just like tiny fingers wanted to write a letter to the stars and faraway thing, she couldn't reach physically which made her reach to the audacity lying in the curiosity of
knowledge. She began, as I watched her letters and words shaking but saying, "I want to complain but don't ask me to explain, They say going through hurdles makes you clean, But what effect does it have on my heart when someone's mean? Mean enough to take away my true stars, my shelter and elders and give me glances of skelter while I quench for water. I am still quite not sure about why there are noises that I can hear but can't see, I wish I can be at horizon in the sea, they say that the end is near, so should I really fear, Is that right or wrong? Whom should I give my
darkness to become a star, I would be delighted if you'd tell me... '' I watched these words and felt to tear myself up so that these elder civilians learn civility. The cold breeze was getting more cold as the hearts that are being sold begging to get colder. The little soul stopped her letter and was shaken with the breeze, felt cold even though her heart made of molten gold. I watched her as she got up and approached towards me with tiredness in her eyes and frost on her hands. She wrapped up herself in me as she continued to lay her words. Maybe she felt me like apricity. I always felt joyous in the crowd but now I realized true happiness, that gave me satisfaction. In the midst of the heat of this fight where I felt dead, I truly felt alive to give warmth to a soul who's ignorant to this world and civility, who just wanted the blessings and warmth of hearts of elders. Now I felt that the laws they passed can never pass beyond the innocence of these little words and hands. The one who's the most loyal to the land doesn't care about the laws but just tries to find personifications in the world. As I wrapped the soul that truly represented a nation, I could feel each heartbeat beating as if it was mine. I imagined the runs and chases I had to go through just like her, what a mystical thing it seems that in the end of my respect, I could feel truly alive. I started hearing the scribbles of the pencil as she continued her true letter. I was mesmerized by the scribbling but then I heard some rocks shifting and footsteps approaching of an evil woman, I heard the murmurings, "Shoot them all!! Their screams shall be the beginning of our new reign”. I couldn't help but got confused about the experiences of bad omens and got caught in an illusion to or not to illustrate them. I heard the footsteps approach as they stopped while the mixture of my feelings started spinning. Then, finally the mesmerized scribbling of the pencil on the letter stopped with a broken sound of misery that made the celestial letter incomplete with disappointment. I, with old experiences became naive just like a child-free nature trying my best not to picture this departure without a goodbye with tears in my threads, that one more time the pain will remember the spiritual connection between me and this little soul's dignity. Just like the faith in a church key was lost when it sunk in the dead sea, the murmurings came true as she pointed the gun at me. A paper boat floated on the red river with ink carved on it saying, “Coming cold to courage cards I conclude the change currently happening needs to be changed, Crowns care for uncrowned but crooning is for in every dark ground there is a sound, The cluster clean clouds shade a smile.
Our eyes see only the marched
But we have been barked at with
Strain in the ground,
Strain in my heart,
Strain on the pages of my body,
Strain in the blurry blood of my eyes
But the bird in my birth believes in beings and wings, Crowns cared for uncrown only made her to be lived. So, to the crowns of blood with train,
I never betrayed.
Don’t make such changed cuts which the blind can see
Don’t leavethe leapingheartachenoisesthedeathdeafcanhearDon’tfill thesnowwithred colorswhichthetreescan’tbear.”
By Akshita Srivastava
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