A wild rose in a sea of dead thorns is still as beautiful as fragrant //
Dead winter branches crisscrossed against the sable sky, marking deep cleaves in the solemn and dark heart of the forest. Save for those withered branches that drew in ragged breathes of icy wind all through the long cold nights, there was but no other life prying in these parts. The only amusement to that truth had been a girl, still a pink flower of childish youth, who meandered through the carpet of blood-and-brown hued dried leaves, smooth as a stream. Whence she had come, or why she was here – and at that too, all alone, no one could have told. Yet, she showed all the signs of having been exiled from the sphere of human existence along with her one comrade- the untamed beauty of nature all around and within her.
And yet, no one who had seen the she-child could have mistaken her to be lonely; or to be marooned in a manless wilderness. For she was neither.
Even when she emerged from behind the peeling dry barks of naked brown trees, the girl seemed, as though she had just emerged from an invisible sphere of wonderland that walked with her, forming a transparent orb of miracle and full existence around her.
For why would she be lost alone in the woods when she could lie endlessly by the little bubbling stream that flowed purple in the glow of the twilight sky and wave her soft fingers back and forth in the restless current that seemed to rush into her fingertips and course through her veins? For indeed, such was the energy within that effervescent spirit of the girl, that even the current was held enchanted!
And when the black blankets of night descended upon her young shoulders, the fireflies would sparkle into existence out of the so far quiet air, and sing to her the song that might have once gushed out from her missing mother’s bosom. What magical music they invoked, only she could hear, and what power of melody they heard in her silent voice was always a mystery to lesser ears. But there was, undeniably enough, an unknown force that connected her lone life with theirs.
And when the night would pass with the moonbeams weaving the most exquisite of silver raiments to drape over her little, slumbering self, the sun would fall forth the eastern horizon as if it had only been waiting, all night, too enter once more, into the world where the lonely girl lived. It is true, that the winds- incensed with the heavy fragrance of every flower, wild and soft, that wished to at least once taste her sweetness- would whisper slowly in her waking ears, saying that the sun had hidden behind the yonder tree line, spying on her as night washed over.
And beneath the sky bedecked with the silvery wisps of clouds and blinking diamonds of stars that vanished when the sky turned from gold to pink, she was seen capering about, talking in a language so old and so native to the Earth, that those who weren’t the children of the Earth could seldom hear.
So why would she be lonely, when she could build a universe out of all the things she loved? And she loved too, a great many numbers of things – things she had never seen but in dreams, things that only danced in her vivid imagination, things that loved other little girls of her age, but had shunned her – indeed, she loved them too! she loved them too, who did hate her. And with all those lovely things to talk to, she was never short of life or friend.
And an infinite many things she had, to talk to those queens and golden swans and rare red flowers forged in the deep richness of her mind. For, hers was a spirit, incapable of seeking sorrow or despondence born out of hatred. There was never anything lacking in all her mind born characters who engaged her all day long. And who could say that she and her phantasmagoric peers would ever run out of things to talk about?
For they conversed in a language that carried no limit to joy. They conversed in silence, in the infinite language of love.
And as long as that love spoke loud in her heart, touching all things in nature, that daughter of the Earth could have never felt the sorrow of loneliness within her effervescent heart
(Picture Courtesy: Pinterest)
© 2018 Sahana Narendran