Ishtar

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There was a regular rhythm like the key notes of piano and there by she walked with her shy but smiling anklets.  It was semi walk and semi levitation by a semi human and a demi-goddess.  The Sun light turned blue and the temperature dropped.  It was hallucinatory for snow flakes sparkled around neither falling nor flying but sparkled all in blue and white.  She doesn’t know that walking over the earth wont hurt the surface; she stood near by coming down from levitation.  The breeze blew her hair uncovering her ears where she wore a shining star from a distant universe.  And the entire shine of the star succumbed in her ear lobes asking no questions going against the dogmas of the nature.

 

She picked a bunch of dark light rays with her fingers and swiped it back of her right ear with a divine femininity in act.  She stood looking at the earth and waves in her bosom froze the sea.

 

The wait was over and it was time for her to move and I stood watching in trance.  Anklets sounded a sweet lullaby but I was watching her swaying hip that was making the air to sleep.  I wished to call her but not with her name for it got stuck in my throat.  How can I call something I could worship by her name? 

 

Fewer steps and the air woke up again for she stopped swaying the cradle.  I was back to reality from the trance for she turned once and looked at my eyes. Those were the eyes of Ishtar an old soul, a deity of love. It was a call, to follow her to become one with the universal feminine force. And I realized I am just a human with no super powers with all dirt of past life and fading soul. 

 

I let the deity go convincing my self as everything is just mere delusion!!  I let her go!

Yesterday is but today's memory!

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Why am I writing not!  Thousands were the content in mind, hundreds were the story in brain, of course few emotions in tens and twenties in my heart.  I still don't write.  Writers block! No; the writer in itself was blocked.  Pain in my hands as a collateral of being an over worked owl and palpitation in chest as the result of a broken marriage. Thank god it was broken but the resultant pain the process and the society had brought in was like a needle prick in the beating heart. Slow and steady the needle goes in so the heart throbs. Words pour from somewhere in the air just like the breathing, unbridled and subconsciously but throbbing evaporates the pour and the sourness ties the hands from writing.

 

Now that I fear not about the pain and sourness and decided to eschew the blocks it has built, the words flow from the same unknown source, the sun, the moon, the sea, the sea shore, the river, the trees, the chirpings, the eminence godliness and thousand more. 

 

The heart still beats faster knocking the doors of my chest to open but it was a cage of which the keys I could find not. The fragrance of the skin I know before decades is not leaving my olfactory.  And the face that owned that fragrance, the face that I held in my palms, touched with my fingers and kissed with my eyes is leaving me not.  The good thing about it is that it is the pill for my palpitation.  I have tasted real love once in my life and realized that never again, ever again will that same fragrance will come crossing my nostrils.

 

The story was a not a simple one liner when I thought it was over decades back. It still continues without the protagonists because the story is the protagonists and the characters are dead long ago.  It is still a book that I still write; I neither know the ending nor the number of pages it will take to complete.  It is just a story like any other but a story by itself, writes by itself; mine are only the hands that just types. 

 “Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream” – Khalil  Gibran

SK