Defiant echoes of thoughts fluttering in the wind of worship, drenched and crossed the seas of the senses..not following the vibrations of the words, but to listen the repercussions of silent rhythms. I Sat under that greenwood tree and tried to turn its merry note.
But now it doesn’t speaks the roots of generations, but the acoustics of voices left-some familiar, some unknown, some retained ,while some already departed!’. Past peeped behind that strong woody built and future flourishing footpaths on those hard branches.
My silence neither could hear the mumbling murmur of the past or could understand the future locust longing really for what?!!.Lost in grasping the gestures of peace and violence, the shades of black and white, the questions of true and false, the depths of beliefs and practice.
The deep breath of institution of life exhibits the different phases of personalities. Some stepping up to touch the high sky, some striving to get back their origin and some playing pebbles on their grounds ,never bothering to understand the phonetics of neither the miseries nor the celebrations. The raw sand dusts beneath the tree now tell their stories-pride and prejudice, poverty and prison, pray and prey…
The dramatic illusions of storms around the tree imitates the successive scenes of all ages-past, present and future. The language is a crude medium of expression, words ,a crude medium of feelings, gestures ,a crude medium of understanding.
The silence captures the feelings beyond the world of words, and the inner rhythm revolving continuously beyond the silence intrude the reflections of those expressions and speaks the language.