By Megha Das
And the door opened.
She stood there.
A witness to her breath,
Wondering what is real.
Each breath insipid.
What is real indeed?
Aimlessly she wandered in.
Wondering what will be seen.
Hope is, she feels, overrated.
Doesn’t get she easily baited.
She continues her saunter,
singing who is Steve.
That is when she saw it,
a statue pensive.
It was a halt, a sudden one.
As if time had taken a turn.
The earth had stopped moving,
and she moved from be to being.
The hall went dark,
only the sculpture was lit.
Her eyes lit up with its radiating spark.
She mused, where in the world does it fit?
Is it real indeed?
Such things still exist?
Or was it just a dream? - she thought,
as she was engulfed by a mist.
Zoned out in the museum, she started dreaming.
A daydream of divulgence.
Little did she know,
that that dream would paint her penance.
In her dream, she was writing.
Writing about a dream she had about a travel -
her travel across the continuum,
-as she felt the fear in her veins of the pandemonium.
She had traveled across the universe
and seen her lifetime in a flash.
But she wrote about just this one moment.
Outpoured, she did lament.
And she wrote -
"It started when they spoke.
The Time Zero.
She had been blue, now yellow.
As if her insides finally woke.
He knew where her lips began.
His touch was a turning page.
Her eyes closed but her mind opened.
As if she was the only sage.
One stroke in the arms and a synchronised stare.
I’ll be fine, you’ll be fine
-he said and oh she wished
that her name was Clementine.
He was waiting in the fire
and she had tried love.
Tapping his fingers into her core, through her forehead.
With pause and play, he led ahead.
It was not flowery, it was not fire.
Of river or like music.
It was like a flow.
Neither it was fast, nor slow.
Neither never, nor ever
Just their beautiful bare naked minds’ flavour.
How could they cover their lifetime in a conversation?
Good thing they didn’t want to, and remained only admiration.
She was in awe of him and he, overwhelmed.
I’m Impressed, he said
He took her by the strum
and she, hymned his hum.
It was not a daily dose of happiness for them.
No. I don’t want to say no.
-he had said and that stayed with her.
Steady flow, not a moment of spur.
Today and forever, enchanting nights he wished for her.
Are you going to meet me tomorrow?
She heard him murmur."
And then, she woke up, her eyes - silver.
If she could wrap time around her body like a blanket, that would be that.
Wandering into reality, it was already Oh nuit.
Coming out of the mist, where was she - she wondered.
The museum, in front of her, thundered.
It was not a sculpture anymore.
It had become a he.
Sculpted, yet, warm.
After a long time finally, she did not want to flee.
Hope is underrated, she now believed.
Breathless now, she realized,
He was not just a sculpture made well.
He was also as deep as a well.
The door closed,
and a window opened.
By Megha Das
Beautiful.