Page 42

A windy Sunday night: the moon seemed to be swimming in the dark, rain filled clouds. As the breath of the wind created commotion in the clouds, moon light peeped through a broken glass window. The room was illuminated by a big candle which was almost fully melted. It was a spacious, but sparsely furnished room, except for a table, a diary, a wobbly chair and a huge clock. Quite the opposite of what the room looked like, it was replete with many experiences all buried in the pages of the diary which lay on the table.

As the wind sneaked into the room with curiosity, the diary was turned open exposing its crisply written words on the yellowed pages which personified the feelings of its owner, a poet.

“I like her smell, pure and nostalgic. Her picture is painted in my mind. Her eyes: as pure as crystals. Her hair:  as free as waterfall, and the face: as pure as the first rays of the sunlight. I crave for her…… ” said page 1.

Page 2 continued describing the beauty and the need for her. While the next 10 pages talked all about her, page 12 said “He is the root of all the misery. There can be no other beast as cruel as him….He has snatched her into his blood thirsty soul. She was molested till her blood soaked the grains of sand…..”

 By that time, the fragrance of innocuous flowers had made its presence felt. It was very curious to know if it had felt the people referred to, in the diary. As the wind and fragrance read on, they could not guess the identity of the people. Their curiosity peaked. With one more breath of the wind, all the pages were flipped just to expose the last page, PAGE 42.

“It is her, THE PEACE, which we have all been craving for. She can never be free until he, THE WAR, is confined in the darkness…..” said page 42.

                                                 

 Wind exhaled a gush of shame, as it realized that it was polluted by the hatred and violence all around. It was during the time of World War 2 that the diary was written. Time was the witness to all the misery. It was with the same frustration that the clock had stopped ticking as it could not bear the violence and hostility any more.

Photo Credit:   bitsandpieces1.blogspot.com