Monday, December 7, 2009

fingering the winds

Each step it took seemed like fortification for the soul. Its feet thudded lightly over the pavement tiles. The tiles were numbered and colour-coded in such a way that they injected strength into whoever walked on them. Some light reading about morality later, it resumed on its way.

It was concocting words in its head. And they made sense. They were words that would guide its sense of goodness whenever an iceberg came along. Icebergs cannot help themselves. It was the job of the literate ones to draw up formulae to divert the ship into safer waters.

It pondered on hurt and its surreality. Hurt could be chosen or left alone. Hurt was as real as an egg omlette. But humans had the gift of distracting themselves from hurt with a timely twirl of their magical fingers. Tap into that source mein freund, remind the winds.

2 comments:

Divya said...
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Divya said...

Interesting read.. An omlette can only be made of egg. Redundant :P