I stood on the other side of the barbed wires and blurry lines waiting for something I know not of.
I always thought what was there on the other side. What lied beyond the unseen. But every autumn when I come here , as if the questions just subside in me.
When I see the blue sky slowly turning red, I remember how in those childhood days I used to latch onto my Mom’s fingers and stare at the same sky trying to make shapes out of those clouds. And she used to turn those white petals into stories as she tucked them into her hair.
When I see the leaves falling off, I remember the times when my Grand Pa used to make me fly through those leaves. He would cling onto me and ask with adorable eyes, “ Would you talk about us when you grow old? “ Every fallen branch here has talked about our stolen laughter and endless giggles since then.
When I walk past these wires and the last few flowers of the season kiss my steps, I remember each of those times when I laid down here with my hair open and the dew soaking my pages of poetry full of silent storms and broken bridges. Paths where I have walked endless roads and mind full of lost thoughts.
Each of those autumns I came here, I felt loved. There was something around me that had me more than that feeling of momentary infinity.
But, I have crossed these barbed wires some times.
In the summer when my Grand Pa passed away. I couldn’t wait for that unknown to bring him back.
In that winter night, when my poetry failed me. I couldn’t wait for that unfelt memory to write back to me.
In that drizzle of the monsoon, when my Mother looked at me with empty arms and failed hopes.
I did smear the flowers and went way past the wire each of these times to just find Nothing.
I started to believe since then , maybe you don’t always need a reasonable ending for a story to stop breathing. It just does!
Photography : Prit Goyani(https://www.instagram.com/prittt15/?hl=en)