Aesthetic writ


February 27, 2019

A conversation with the mist, soil, and silence. The red baby blossom is listening.


Late evening red skies. I watched the border run all the way to the horizon where it disappeared somewhere at infinity. Just a seam, one side of which was the pandemonic wilderness, and on the other, the rhythmic play of everyday life spread out over a vast city. Two sides of one Earth, neither of which this planet seemed afraid to flaunt. The order of civilizations stood majestic – evolved – while the barbarous wilderness displayed its chaos flamboyantly.

”Beauty can’t be drawn into a border, can it? Everywhere there is space, beauty finds its own way, only, in different forms,” I breathed into the mist.

The words sunk into the soil, and the weeds and roses that the mud fondled nodded their agreement to the wind.

The mud… what if the mud wanted to become the cement and tried to rise to the clouds like a skyscrapers? All of that effort, and it would never make it to the clouds.

I turned to the soil.

“Have you ever tried? You know, to imitate the concrete? Everyone marvels at skyscrapers and their exuberance. And here you are, sprawling on the ground, just drab brown mud. Has that ever made you feel powerless and weak, making you wish that you were like the skyscrapers too?”

The mud chose silence for an answer. Ask yourself that question, dig for the answer in your own buried thoughts, the silence said.

Dig for it… 

I laughed as it hit me.

” Why, why would you want to be the skyscrapers? You are wise enough. You know already the beauty that lies concealed inside your heart. Dig deep enough and there, gold lies therein!”

“But what if the skyscraper begin to search itself for gold? It would pine of grief and disappointment at finding itself hollow.”

I looked over my back to the sky-rise cleaving the ground. Grief? There was only confidence. The skyscraper isn’t insane enough to want to become gold. Is gold the only sort of beauty? Those elegant buildings have got lips that the clouds themselves plead to kiss!

”So it’s just us – the Earthlings?” I asked the mist, “Who force beauty into borders?”

Silence. I turned to the soil. A red baby blossom looked at me with its innocent eyes. I stroked its blushing petal.

“Beauty grows everywhere dear. In every heart that is willing to believe in its own beauty and relish it. It appears in infinite unique forms – but it’s beauty all the same. And whoever recognizes it in the form in which it has appeared to them and embraces it unabashed, in them it blossoms ever stronger. Just like you.”

“But humans don’t understand that,” I complained. ” They try to restrain all the beauty in the world into one form and force themselves to believe that nothing else is beautiful. And that’s when the mud deserts the gold inside it and goes in search of a way to become the skyscraper. But will it ever? Oh, they only fall lower than they thought they were, miserable that they can never become beautiful. Humans don’t try and develop their own unique style of beauty. When they don’t look like everyone else, they are afraid to show their faces, insecure. What a pitiable waste – the treasure within them goes undiscovered and any happiness they owned is destroyed in the effort to find it in something else!”

The red baby blossom agreed enthusiastically. So violently did it bob its head, it might have fallen down to the ground. I smiled, brushing my thumb and forefinger over its soft petal face.

Somewhere above this Earth, the purple sky grew solemn under its dark veil and night summoned the moon to light the fire to my fettered passion.

Stooping down closer to the flower, I dropped my voiced to a whisper. “I met a girl like that once, you know. She was no great beauty – a medium size, dark hair, dark eyes… plain features. But then, it was the way she walked – with all of that swagger. And oh, the depth of her sharp eyes that burned with light when she talked! The way she was so confident of the form she had gotten – of the beauty that she was. You know, Like when you know that you are a different kind of artwork and polish your intricate strokes to put them proudly on display? “

I paused. The Earth did too. Listening, all the world, hushed in to hear.

Smiling, I pulled back my head and continued louder for all of my audience to hear – the mist, the bloom, the soil and the silence.

“It was like-” I clenched my fist, trying to ease the ache of memory fluttering about my heart. ” – well, she acted like she was perfect; because she knew already that she was. And she wasn’t afraid to show it out.”

Leaves ruffled from the side of the forest. Was that a sign of admiration from a strange, unconventional beauty to another?

“Yes,” I turned to the wilderness. “An ordinary girl, just as perfect as any other. But the fact that she knew about it made all of that difference. It was in that attitude, the air of perfection, that dispelled the dust from the gold. All that came from believing in her own beauty, My!”

Crickets had began to chirp. If they had shied away because they weren’t nightingales, would the silence not miss their magical symphony?

I stood up to leave, one last look at the seam. Darkness had brought that infinity where the horizon disappeared, a lot closer.

“Have you come too, to listen to this vagrant?” I laughed at it, caressing my unshaven jaw.

“Let me tell you. Ever since, wherever I go, her memory comes haunting me. I’ve been wandering places trying to find another such beauty. But ah, there were divine young faces, yet none that possessed that effortless perfection that comes from believing in their own beauty. So, here I am, still lost in her magic, trying to tell anything that would listen about the cupid that has stolen my heart.”

And so saying, I walked away, towards the dwindling city lights that began to grew sharper with every step. The silence followed me for a while more, both of us conversing about my girl in the native language of silence where love lived. Then it returned back to its haunt too.

And all that was left with me was that one throbbing thought that I stole from her memory – You already are perfect You only need to believe in your magic and embrace it so the world can see your beauty unrestrained.


Dedicated to all the beautiful people who believed in themselves and inspired me to. To all the people who taught me to see my beauty and to not find it.

I shall ever be unable to take back my mind from you and all that magic of perfection that you tempted it with.


© 2019 Sahana Narendran Protection Status

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