And so she has grown out of her cocoon. Beautiful, un-abraded by the viciousness of the world around her, so naive and fresh. She has just worn her pink glasses and stepped out of her house. The walls that she had never seen beyond. She is curious and anxious, her eyes move rapidly trying to absorb every detail around her totally unaware of the sharp edges that surround the smooth beauty.
She tries to touch a rose and tears her sleeve in the thorny bush. She tries to pick a stone and gets a spasm by its weight. Suddenly the blue-sky turn gray and the red on her cheek turns pale. Thunder storms from the dark clouds and hazes all the effervescence around her. A black out and she falls to the ground. Her wings cut off. She tries to elevate herself. The heaviness on her shoulders fails her efforts. She is perplexed, doesn’t know what is bogging her down. She stumbles, injures herself. She quivers and gapes but the ponderosity keeps her from getting up. With great effort and knocking knees she manages to hold her ground and stand up. The thrust of the wind has blown all the green away. The pressure is making her sway. A bolt of thunder sends shivers down her spine and miraculously a stick loads her shoulder. She is completely unwitting about the stick. She notices two baskets suspended at each ends of the stick. They are empty yet she is weighed down by it. Another thunder in the sky and her image of the beautiful world she had just stepped in to came crashing down in front of her watery eyes. The thud was so loud that it shattered her pink glasses. She could now see a man and a woman in each of the baskets. They looked at her with helplessness in their eyes. The vulnerability in those eyes was more engulfing than the dreariness in the atmosphere. She feels she is accountable. She feels she is chosen to sail them through the storm. She gives them a reassuring smile and ploughs her way through dust and creep. She begins to stoop within a few steps. Her spine shouts for some rest. Her arms ache to straighten. Her throat parched completely but not a fret on her face. She moves on with a smile on her face. She ducks every bump on the road, glides through the rough terrains and gets corns on her feet but that doesn’t dither her spirit. She is determined to take them ashore. She had assured them so.
Her feet begin to tremble after some time. They were helpless, but they had feet, hands and breath intact. She wonders after a while, why wouldn’t they walk that distance on their own. Why would they sit so pretty in the basket and watch her collapse. They acknowledged her effort intermittently. Initially that was encouragement enough for her to walk a few hundred steps. Now, it became irritable to her. She is growing weak. The constant change of weather from the bright to gloomy is taking its toll on her. Her hands begin to shake, her toes become hard and ankles crack. Her lips chap. Her eyes dry out and the wind lines her lids with dust. Her mind is now playing games with her. She sees things that aren’t. She hears what is not spoken. She isn’t comprehending anything, hence all the misunderstandings. She is hoping this journey would end sooner than now.
The world she had stepped into wasn’t like this. It was much rosier, till her glasses broke. She has to now tread this long unwinding journey all by herself, carrying this unwarranted luggage on her shoulder. She shudders at the thought of it never ending. They look at her with hope and pity. They are able, but are getting use to the comfort of sitting in the basket and begin carried by someone. They don’t have to go through the turmoil if some one else is bearing it for them. She is bearing it all for them so they don’t get hurt. But they seem to not empathize. She can't run away. She can’t leave them alone now on a journey she has started. No matter how hard the wind blows, no matter how dark it grows, no matter her body gives up, no matter her last breath goes… she moves on… chasing that illusive horizon in front of her. Keep Walking…
