The desert and the traveller

I am a desert. The sands my being. The warm morning that visit my bone cold exteriors are my time of solace. There is the faint trace of a dew drop as it died on the lips of a cactus. Watching them grow has been my passion, my only escape, my only pastime.

I see myself as a house. No home like the oceans that give beauty to the inmates, its kith and kin. The camels that travel leave dents with their foot, but they’re like the people and the hurt they leave behind. The hurt fades with the tides of time, like the dents are covered and lost forever as the wind larges into my territories. But there is a large gaping hole that cannot be covered cannot be measured. The gaping crater that made me a desert.

In the world that I have created for the last five years, I make my own oasis. I make civilizations. I watch as my pen mates with the paper and create its own culture of meanings. Such a scrap of paper lay somewhere in packing boxes in the attic…souvenirs of a high school now looking like a long-lost dream. Bitter-sweet memories that stagnated in the isle of my mind. Why does the last year have to be the best?

We the teenagers come of age in this age with loud noises, with ruckus and a bucketful of complaints. We turn out to become the epitome of madness and of rebellion, of aggression, of agitation, of depression.

We become the basins to which advice drain themselves to. We become the imperfect ones caught in the transit between maturity and immaturity. Betwixt the entire colour, there are streaks of grey, streaks of pain, of pressure.

As we try to become what we need to be, thrust upon us are the norms which were made by the teenagers of yesteryears. As we try to amend the rules that no longer fit our life, we struggle to continue.

As the family fight, the voices inside us ask us why family. We buckle under the peer pressure, we cry as unknown pains congregate inside our heads, when our voices are not heard, when the need to climb stalls our desire to fly.

Unexplainable fears, the acne, the confusion……mixed with the colour, the life, the time. There, I would not know how other would put it, but it really is our age, the age synchronizing with the numbers that signify it.

A sad sky descends as the sun sets the sun of my hopes, my hopes manifesting into the sad end of a spot over the horizon. The oasis was an illusion. Instead, there was the crater that buried the traveller, and his fifteen year old dreams. I had ceased to exist. 

2 Responses to The desert and the traveller

  1. Ashraf kadannappalli says:

    Good language skill.

  2. Prasanna kumar says:

    Celestial agony….. deep as the ocean

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Powered by adlabs