prism

The small marble-like figure, filled with the essence of joy, falls on the pale green exterior, that’s when life begins. How often I wonder that we too have the inevitable turbulence that she has. Perhaps calm at a moment, as the drops of pebbles fall upon us, never expecting a storm to come. We suppress what we feel, hoping everything becomes stable. Something like we used to do it do a bottle of water, leaving out a small gap on the top, we squeeze the life out of it; letting the storm rage towards us.  She seemed like the amazing muse, pairing symphonically with hot chai and parle-G. That soft drop we succumb to hold, that teardrop we don’t let fall. Putting a smile upon it, letting the pearls roll over our face. But that’s it. It stops there. We wipe out the glaze, take in all that would have rained upon, thank that it wasn’t the storm.  Just as she gives life, she comes in strong and wipes out an existence. Breaking down, destroying what she sees, that’s what we see. What if it’s