The drab city

 

Aimlessly i walk in this town. Thinking of hope, of love and peace. Its a city full of smoke, noise and hatred. Thought i could be part of its art, loose myself into it and be myself in it. It lies on the banks of some river, once was fresh but now flows of dark waters, darker than the night. Can't go swimming, its filthy. No quacking of ducks, no melodies just aimless sounds. In this place i thought happy endings lay awaiting. Birds sing sad songs...songs without a rhythm, lyrics without words... without a melody. The wind whispers of longing. It enwraps me with its embrace and am once again lost in the circle...

 No children around, to lighten up the grey days in this place. Old men sit still, huddled together yet the sun shines bright. Eyes hollow and expressionless. Dry gazes from everyone and it's no longer welcoming. No more the place i longed for. I thought it was a beautiful place, full of green, full of bliss and I longed to be here. Tall chimneys towering above the environs. Serpent of smokes emerging, up and higher. The cool breeze i longed for is all but dry salty air with pungent smells of dead fish and maybe river weeds. It was never this way. Only sweet thing is the golden rays of the sun, yet the city that ought to be bustling with business men is inactive. No traffic and the buildings are shabby and crumbling, covered with graffiti, paint peeling off. The last time I was here it was a city defined by art in every corner, every park.

 Pavements across the streets are cracked and the famous monuments and statutes are moss covered. Silence is peaceful but at the same time its suspicious. It wasn't burnt down because then the once white and blue walls would be a tired shade of soot.  The more I walk the more feel my past reaching to my present, where my forever dreams were trapped in cruelty. The green carpets on the roadside now torn, unrecognisable, covered with sand and mud thirsting for a drop of rain. Hollow expressionless eyes gaze at me from Brocken glass windows, no words, no violence, no music and no purpose. 😶😶

I walk along a famous avenue, the legends monument lays on the road side, his warrior sword now detached from his grasp looking helpless and normal, not how you would have described him from our history books. He is no longer an image of receptivity nor fun, no whimsical delight only an image imprinted by sorrow and regret. I walk towards the park, on normal evenings, the park would be filled with kids on bouncing castles, riding on Ferris wheels, cycling others holding ice-cream letting it melt dripping and seeping through their small palms to the ground. There would be nannies and mothers pushing crying and sleeping babies in prams. A lady in hijab dutifully trying to keep up with the strides of her betrothed. Most probably he would have these large hazel eyes that always remind of a shimmering lake, his face thin, smooth after having dropped a chunk of weight.

 The park is quite, noise in audible and indistinct. At this moment my intuition is fleet and unreflective, it reminds me of Olivia, from Scandal, but at this point her gut is of no impact. A feeling of dizziness, confusion and a growing queasiness like cells forming cancer squeeze the breath out of my lungs. Am crippled with fear, but I move forward to a familiar spot. I would stand there to look at the ships with exceptional excitement every time. I would try and try to fathom or make out any voices from the waters, but then maybe the whale rider was also exceptional. But the ship is not moving, seems to be on the verge of sinking. From time to time it hoots, roaring with uncertainty and hunger, the foam of the frozen sea casting in in high yet a quite tide.

 The once famous vessel now timid and wrinkled up in shame, maybe aware of the rocky coast lacking the oneness of the ocean, a generous, vast wholeness, a crackling living fragrance, falling away from the surface like a thick fruit breaking from its branch. The crew might have forgotten the names of the days, washed out by the waters in the night. Maybe they went farther into the waters, to be cleansed, to gleam more than a white stone under the rain, maybe they swam some more, towards nothingness. The breeze from the ocean no longer sharp and cold, but plain. Its time to say adios to the waters to try and resound in the nonexistent wind once more. To escape the submerged faces in my head.

But then a sudden brow builds inside, like a bell or like a wave giving me a wild scent, with multiplicity of bonfires, the ships of the capital, the water on which I will sail. To hold the storm like a bee in the marine night. Someday Ill pick the forms of the city from the sand, under the strange night, the trembling in the ports will be back, the flowers will sprout back just in time and the carpets shall be cleansed off the dust. Someday, life will slither back to the white and blue city.