When they sing Carol

It’s December! The fresh snow pattered along with the chilled zephyr romanticized the realm of my feasibility.

Do you know why I love December as November does? The reverberation of the word 'carol' lulls my eardrums and set fire on my veins. December is a romantic haven for me. I have no worries and tensions about the word carol 'cause everyone talks carol. And I set myself free with the name or word carol. Everyone in the congregation talks about carol and they practice carol songs; kids, blistering blood youth, middle aged, white bearded, and what else to say even the wind echoes carol!

Every December nights are filled with carol songs and everyone is busy with carol nights. And I pretend I am one among them who is going for a carol night, but in actuality, I love to hear the word carol and use it with no questions.

The soft chilled wind caresses the leaves of bamboos, maples, and even the Willow seems to be happy! They were like the flight of a twining profusion of marvellously rich hair of hers falling and dancing down her shoulders.

It’s carol night and everyone busy with carol songs! The moon and stars looked like her bright eyes arched by brows so keen, slender, and soft a curve that they resembled nothing so much as two slurs in music- showed primarily a bright sparkle each.

Though she belongs to January, it seems, she is a foster child of December.

The most beautiful, gracious, and delectable smile reflects on her cheeks. And she smiles!

Comments

The Awkward Silence of the Enchanting Chasm

“Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.” Have I forgotten you? I don't like the way you faded into oblivion. Your glorious absence marveled at the absurdities of my life. Even the last remnants of your weird sight and smile create a whirlpool of the past and a hurricane of madness deep in the abyss of my conscience. Everywhere, in every form and matter, I see your dust. I teach myself to forget you and move ahead. The chaos of your story in mine is the absence of your existence in time-space. I weave each and every layer of your story so that I can tell my son, one day, how I survived on my own. I wonder whether it was your light or the shadow I painted, mostly in Prussian blue. They will hear the echoes of the deep enchanting chasm on my chest. I keep it echoing on my chest, so that I might tell my son on the shores of infinity that I had a story to tell.

Knowing

I know this: I am also a repetition. A continuation of forces older than my name, patterns that moved through generations and found their way into me. I do not carry them as burdens alone; I carry them as proofs. What has been tried before me did not end—it arrived. And I stand where it converges. I have never been lost—only moving through complexity. I have questioned, delayed, circled, cried but never diminished. Even when direction dissolved, something steadier than certainty kept me upright. What others call confusion was often preparation. What felt like stillness was alignment in motion. I was not failing to become; I was becoming without spectacle. There were moments when desire thinned, when the world stopped asking for urgency. Not emptiness—clarity. Noise fell away. False appetites dissolved. What remained was gravity, and gravity always tells the truth. I learned then that not everything needs to excite in order to matter. And so the world narrowed—not into loss, but into gr...

Ruth: The Epilogue

"But..." I was being dragged by the ebb of time into the abyss. On the shores, beneath the mountains, blue waters lulled my feet. I was looking at the completion of my life as she was calling me to join the tides. The gravity of the past pulled me into the quantum architecture of multiple dimensions of life. I fell into the realms where I tricked my past to stay engaged. My present is an analogy of my past. The energy I created, then, in the quantum architecture transformed into an autonomous being of intelligence. I was unable to stop it from growing into a being. They said, "Quantum corresponds to each other and can transfer information to each other, no matter of space or time." Her lips quivered, and her feelings clouded her mind as she appeared like a glitch in time. Her words echoed through the ages, " We should remain ignorant of each other like we used to be in the past. I will pretend that I never knew you." P.S: Spenser read from his book, ...

The Ballads of Gravity

Search This Blog