walmir

Its been hours now so discrete and separate, probably coupling to make it days which I have stopped counting, which i have spent in staring at the walls and mirrors everywhere I go. Waiting for a digital response, perhaps.Some noise from deep silence; perhaps. Sometimes in our span the silence takes us into her arms like a mother and at times like your beloved you possibly can be with forever. Times I guess...

The white walls of the well lit room coupled with the white bedsheet and pillows, the white crane that’s born out of the silent drive, the silence within the noise of the city celebrating the festival of colors. The green walls of the so called home. The multicolored ones of largely decorated corporate buildings.Walls they are that have captivated every bit of imagination making a less turbulent noise deep within. Augmented by the panes of glass some transparent and others being opaque which reflect back what you show them, mirrors. The glass panes that power the window panes of aircraft, from where you see the water joining the two banks as you fly down over the busiest economic capital, once silent, starts making a bit of noise not as turbulent.  

Perhaps trying to tell the story of how in one life one is bound between the two edges; one being the past and one being the future with both of them being distant apart, like the river bank. The water being patient enough to connect and hold on to the two sides, similar to the being I have known for years now. The element.

I thought it would stop there perhaps, but no. It does continue; every piece of object specifically material ones, which science terms non-living, has started creating some noise. The closed car window, I have been staring for a while now as i sit beside the flyover watching the sun set right in front of me in one of the busiest cites spawns a hundred thoughts. I see the vehicles speeding fast, on the one way track and I wonder what drives them home, for it’s a little strange for me. Why are they pacing fast and where I ask? This glass window piece of the car window which protects me from the cool breeze outside leaving me to sweat all the while whispers the rationale. Perhaps they are speeding home. A home they call their own. A home of people waiting for you, unlike yours. The drops roll down and dry as they create a cold sensation on this chin. Perhaps the home, my home is what i am waiting for and unlike them who are racing fast I have to be still, the thought strikes this mind as the lips widen with relief...

There comes a point in life I guess, when your silence coupled by your longing that gives rise to the expectation leading you to wait, takes you closer to those objects which were once dead. The walls and the mirrors which become alive and respond... perhaps. I don’t know may be one of my experiences unique to me not yours, or may be...

So what? What are we talking about? Living with the walls and mirrors? Or it’s just another random piece of article that mushrooms out of an expression that was deliberately trying to escape thus making space for another thought. Perhaps not!

Overtime, as I ponder upon these walls and mirrors my close friends now, I discover a striking similarity in the ways we respond. Walls being silent and mirrors made to reflect what’s in frontof it. This makes rare sense if thought of as separate entity, however what’s more interesting is the story these two objects have to tell when looked at the response of living beings. I don’t know but perhaps your experience could be a bit similar to mine, the experience of silence. There might have been a time when you perhaps wait and expect a response, a word, a thought or simply some noise. Like the farmer who tills the land and waits for the rain to come to see the green leaves emerge from the damp land. Waiting each day, sitting alongside the land hoping that perhaps this would be the day when he could see something green; as the time passes on. On days there’s nothing green that comes and the sunshine is no longer blocked by the clouds. He waits and wonders, and for him its the story of the wall or the mirror. Would he choose to be the mirror, reflecting back all actions with in the same way that nature does on it, leaving the land and abandoning the harvest? Or would he choose to be like the wall, which again reflects the actions of nature in a more positive way, cuz when you are trying to hit the ball on the wall you do get the ball back but with the mirror it breaks off. I wonder about the state of the farmer and the numerous nights and days that pass in silence coupled with the less turbulent noise of the dead objects; now living, and on his decision to be a wall or the mirror. 

Perhaps its easy with him for its the nature that does the action on the farmer on which he has no control. He has no choice but to be the wall. I wonder about human beings. Would we be mirrors to their actions, or stand like a wall letting them play with their ball and waiting for a possible time when the being would perhaps feel that the force caused by the ball and suddenly leave the ball and come to the wall? I sit and think as the wall above me whispers, perhaps a day will come... A day when the one playing with the ball would contemplate for a while on what the wall goes through and may be leave the ball, run towards the wall to embrace creating an experience inexpressible... The glass pane of the cell, whispers about the possibility of the one, with the ball getting bored of this wall eventually looking out for a better one... who knows... the questions beyond an answer perhaps left to time... as this mind calms down for a while if not much... What continues is the swinging pendulum with two ends one being the wall, the other being mirror and the amusing thing. The thing of how we become walls parallel, at one point becoming a wall ourselves to some and at the same time becoming a player to another who becomes a wall for us... Wall taking precedence somehow, even with the force with which the ball hits for the faith on cranes overpower it... for the glimpse of that bright morning… walmir.