I was Flying

Aren’t bridges wings? Why has man thrown logs over streaming brooks? Why has he erected columns to pave way for humanity? Yes, they are bridges, they are wings! You fly over the land, only that you have your feet on the concrete. You feel the smell of air of the heights. You are born to fly. The ones on the ground, don’t they feel the desire to stand where you stand? Don’t they envy you for being at a height? Yes, you certainly fly, coz you are born to. Bridges are wings!

The other day, I was standing on a bridge. I was flying in the breeze, which fingered gingerly through my hair, and, like an old passionate lovelorn lover, seduced me to loosen up my clothes to feel her running with every hair, every goose bump of my body. It gently pecked marks of love over my body parched by the sunny days of lost childhood and fake adult rationale and hypocrisy. Yes, I was in love with the wind again, with myself and our solitude love making. I was flying again; naked I was, having stripped off my clothes of materialism, shrewdness, skewness and hatred. 

I was looking westward, to the setting sun. The horizon transitioned through thousands of psychedelic shades of amber, as the earth kissed the sun. The sun blushed and the whole sky, the whole of my bosom’s universe felt the tinge of love.

The river, the Ganga, that tore the horizon of nothingness filled wilderness into two, like a flying bird rips off the heart of the heaven into two, was wavering and returning back the blush to the sky. The boatmen down into the river carrying young couples pulled their boats in the stream. They are blessed people, they make some of the most mesmerizing and cherishable moments for people. They trouble their hands pulling oars to let people capture the spectacle into their hearts. They see numerous stories beginning and ending before them. On one hand they look at people starting their lives anew and on the other hand they turn their heads to the far back to look smoke rising from the cremation grounds.

I smiled at the brutally paradoxical irony. I pulled on my hood and flew away! Smiling! Waiting to fly over the scene again someday…in solitude…

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