The following article was published in N-SPHERE July 2010 issue.


The old man plunged to his fate, enraged at the earth that would not have him. Heavens laughed, and his friends found themselves saddened by what they would later call “his great moment of weakness”. His story was passed on, as the seasons kept chasing each other amongst the crimson lamplights spread across the vast gray plains of remembrance. Stillness reigned here for centuries, now a spider’s web’s kingdom, and yet, countless eyes whispered counterclockwise, waters ran upwards, and every time the peace of mind was in his grasp, it would elude him with unflinching stubbornness rooted in dark despair.

He meditated upon the prospect of abandonment, the urge of letting go and throwing it all to hell. But even that in itself required a certain amount of energy he did not possess at such a time. He sought comfort in the unanswered icy clouds brewing fearful cries, filled with unnatural ethereal light.

A strangled voice slowly turning into a screeching ugly howl drew his attention away from the wonders at his feet. He had nothing to say, nothing to share with others. Why was he troubled with triviality and nonsense? He told himself ‘Listen to the rain, listen to the stones grow’, maybe something good will come out of that. But for now, he felt… depleted. That would best describe the state he felt inside and around him.

Letters were swept away from parchments, dancing vigorously around a blank, pitch black mind, as he walked away with a faint ‘Insha’Allah’ carved on his lips.

by Bahak B

artwork by Vel Thora

Full article here.