the little red flowerA Story by indu
abstractly about our lives
Where the life branches out with green leaves, afresh and misty with the early morning dew, eagerly awaiting the sunshine along the pathway of so many tiny branched out ways, where a little red flower is blooming; opening her eyes to the day; the only day her life offers, with the anticipation of butterflies and bees humming around them, to catch her breath and scent with their larger quest to find the hidden treasure in her. The fresh air in the breeze, mild and not cold; enter her nostrils to let her know the time has come for her to be the individual, diverse from the beings of branches and leaves and so on, and when as she opened her eyes, she saw hundreds and thousands of little red flowers like her, so similar, it is hard to tell her apart from them. Some of them seemed to be crippled, one or two petal-less and some paled out. Yet they all saw the brighter side; the life has reached in them, the pinnacle of universe beating in them. With the mild wind, they moved to right, then to left; a little shake to awaken their senses. The sound of the laughers and cries of joy merged with the day’s moment and perhaps, it might have reached the penultimate point when the sun bowed before them and welcomed them to the world as he patted the little bow heads.
Was a day’s older gangs were getting jealous of them? I wonder, maybe not. A day through and the life seemed the same with the green leaves freezing in the mist waiting for the sun, to feel a warmth but to suffer a stroke by mid noon. And oh, the buzz of the bees and the constant chattering of the flies; when will they move away?! Worst of all, the wind slowly catches speed to pull them apart from its only abode known, to some place below, deep down where no living has ever seen, a much darker, bitter and frightening place. And they know as the petals grow heavier, each of them is going to the same place, below. Where to dwell in unity, some seemed discerned from the enthusiastic ones. After all, they are individuals living with the same packing. And thus, the story of little red flowers goes on as the days move forward to find the other end of life while the new ones pop up eagerly for the days that life has to offer.
© 2010 indu
AboutI have always felt the urge to write.. but I am uncertain about the texture, technics etc. (if there are any). I have written poems much more than prose though I am not a big fan of poems.. Fact i.. more..