A Dabble with the Gods

A pair of shoes on a tree,
A dream that failed to climb the sky,

Still, these are to be admired as half done work,

Who will dare wear these shoes?

A big living room so close to us and yet so distant.

Like culture, Like knowledge, Like emotional development,

Past and Present.

But everyone prefers sitting in the window looking at the road.

Looking at life, which passes by;

Spectators of their own lives.

From tonight's walk.

I need to think, to be alone ...

...

Should we say “Good bye blue skies…” or, do we look on for sunshine …

Those are my shoes.

I'll be needing them, to finish my work. Resting awhile on the branches, I must have slept to gather my forces together.

... people passing through life watch a family thrive on the pavement of purity. Those who pass by are stereotypes, no one diverting. All following a meaningless path.

The living room is laced with feelings. It’s just that, the feelings which bind the family; is too deep to fathom. Feelings, which create a massive hall, to contain life's essence together.

Tired, with sweat burning the eyes. Slipping on the boots, as the body threatens to betray. Taking a firm foot hold and pushing myself forward. Moving on with latent energy…

Organic Rain

Its one of those days, when the sun beats down on you. The hands outstretched, as he feels the dry wind on his skin. Dead leaves rustle past, and he grasps it, taking in the scent. It hadn't rained for the past three months, and the earth was crying out for water. Farmers stood panting, gasping for cloud formations. The old man gingerly came out of the mud house, squinting his eyes in the extreme heat and whiteness. A congress of farmers had been waiting for a conference with him. The eldest came forward and placed a leather bag in front of him.
"I accept gold only when I create sanctity."
"This is only for trying, old man."
"Be patient. It will rain in a weeks time."
"Hey! I have a liquor store, and the way its goin' no ones gonna drink anymore."
"Selling liquor is unholy. Change your profession."
"All we are asking is this: make it rain, and you will find us very grateful. We will fill your stock with the first harvest!"
Dust was gathering all around, as grains of sand showered on the old man. The villagers respected him for his experience. They believed that he could create miracles. As he had done before.
"Right. I shall pray the whole night. Send some poultry, eggs and goat's milk. Now, leave. It will rain tomorrow!"
The farmers returned satisfied. The waiting women cooked happily for their husbands, and later, under the flickering wick flames, several satisfied couples made love. What else would anyone need ... It would be raining tomorrow!
The morning was as hard as ever, with the scorching sun beating down. The mud house was empty. Someone used to live there. Not anymore.
The old man knew very well that the "miracle" was just a coincidence.

Concepts de Propagation

Standing on the threshold of uncertainty, the trembling hands tried to come to terms with the door knob. With a creaking muse he enters the room. A strong scent of camphor hung heavily from the ceiling. Looking around, he found pages scattered all over the floor. These were pages of a book penned by him ages ago. Scripted by a young and spirited man. When, he was filled with a strong feeling of anarchy. The fans loved him for the bold use of sarcasm. Sarcasm against the powers that rule – a supreme defiance against the red tape. Tapes, which even a once invincible man is now a part of.
Legs get weak from the memories that flood in; the couch was next to him. Slowly sitting down, he closed his eyes to travel for a moment. The camphor felt intoxicating, and probably helped the brain to spark unconsciously.

The Revolution had surfaced a year ago. Seeds were sown years ago. He was in university back then. An environment teeming with tangential ideas. As a son of a revolutionary writer, the boy was encouraged by a need to change. The union office witnessed historic talks of these brilliant thinkers. Leaders of the Movement frequently visited the campus to influence and preach. They came from the hills. The teachings appeared more glamorous than the usual chant of the professors ...