Word photographs I

Fleeting moments, some beautiful, some melancholy, some imaginary nevertheless true. Little threads stitched together by time and memory. I have given up taking literal photographs altogether for I cannot do these justice, but my mind yearns to keep a record of some kind because it fears forgetfulness. So I colour the pictures and sounds in my mind with words and collect it here.

 

I spy a bird, blackest of black in colour from beak to claw. It perches haughtily on the branch of a tree and glances at me contemptuously. The sly wind ruffles its feathers revealing a brilliant red patch hidden unconsciously.

 

“Drowning not waving”, a phrase, though with a poem attached, already says it all.

 

Cherry blossoms in bloom. Expecting flamboyance and a riot of colours, I am met with quiet beauty instead, which hits me harder. A gentle shower of petals lent wings by the wind falls on young couples as cupid’s blessings.

 

Sheathed in cellophanous blue sheets, I smile indulgently at the excitement writ on the toddler’s face at the prospect of a boat ride to the foot of the falls. “Violet, indigo, blue, green yellow, orange and …. red” i tell her pointing to the steady rainbow created by the water and the sun. I stand on the deck watching the falls get closer and closer, wiping the water from my eyes, but the moment hasn’t come yet. And then I realize I am blinded and deafened. By the on-slaught of rain which no human eye can withstand. By the roar of the water which no human voice can over-power. My will is wisp before the merciless mist and my dress is drenched despite the blue sheets. I struggle to open my eyes to see a breathtaking rainbow circumscribe a rock on which water falls majestically, seemingly from the heavens, but the moment has passed. Then I hear the little one ask her father “Bapa, where is the boat ? I want to go on it”

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