The life is slipping like sand through palms

The hour glass shows the sand slowly slipping from the upper globe through a narrow passage to the lower globe. Various devices to mimic the passage of time. You can always flip the hour glass and the cycle can restart.

But that is not so with the real life. The hour glass of the real life cannot be flipped. Whatever has passed the passage cannot be reloaded in the upper globe. The life now is slipping like the sand through the sands: freely flowing. It never relents for a moment and every bit of the allotted hours are leaking away. Whatever water has passed under the bridge will not return.

Blankness stares in the front. What was wished to be done could not be done. The vice like hand of time is closing on my life. Life which would resist till last. The hand will go on squeezing every bit of it from the body. Ultimately, the eternal truth will happen. Body will become limp. Proteins will begin to breakdown releasing amines which reek of death. Muscles will become tense. It will be consigned to the earth which once nourished it like a mother. But the truth remains. From “Ashes unto Ashes”.

Foggy Morning

No, I should not call it a foggy morning, because it is not the fog but smog which descends on the earth during these days of the year. The monsoon has ebbed and except for an occasional shower there are no rains. The weather has become muggy and suffocating. It is not clear and there is a lot of heat accumulating over the earth. A pall of heat covers the earth.

There is lot of humidity and when the night become clear, in the mornings with the drop of temperature, smog begins to form. In fact it was so dense today that nothing was visible even a short distance away. The moving figures look like wraiths, suddenly appearing and disappearing round the corners. Fog seems to be floating here and there, over the tree tops, inside the boughs, hovering over the buildings making them appear and disappear now and then.

The tree drip the water which is condensing on the leaves and coalesce to become drops heavy enough to stay up and fall on to the earth. It seems that the trees are weeping but why or for what is not known only to them. It is the school time. Children in their uniforms, unwillingness on their faces prod towards the building called school. Some come on vehicles like buses from far off places, other riding with their parents who have great hopes for the bright future of their children, and others who live in the colony on feet.

Walking in this scene looks as if one is walking a dream. Other figures seem to be gliding like particle in a colloid. Whenever there is a wisp of air, the fog seem to be shifting places sometimes giving way to the sun rays. The rays look like shafts or threads of silk. As the day progresses, the mist begins to thin away and completely disappear by the time most people wake up. They even don’t know that when they were asleep, this magical phenomenon was unfolding outside their home.