I don’t remember, ever flying!
What do you remember then?
Was always with you, part of a tree and green!
Doesn’t everything have a thought, a feeling, an emotion, wonders Piu.
As I walked by the lane, they spoke to each other.
They never spoke as such.
Neither chirped.
They were just there, quietly holding on to the last bit of themselves as the wind softly eroded them.
When he lost his eyes, she came a little closer, at least I thought she did!
Her beak was about to touch his cheeks to whisper to him what he wasn’t missing around.
Then she realised they never could see but only felt.
It was then the time for her to fade. She hadn’t seen her colour but she loved her own surface, painted and smooth.
Could have been the colour of the sky.
Could have been the trees. Who knows but she could feel it peeling off.
He coaxed the moss that covered him, to grow on her instead. He was fine being bare as long as she had the coat of green.
I had seen them together while coming back from the afternoon walks, close to each other quietly counting the blessings before the rain made them softer and brittle.
It wasn’t about growing smaller or losing forms. They were comfortable with the change.
They changed shapes together.
Grew different from each other on every other day.
But they both believed to be part of the same, at least that’s what I felt every time I went out to put garbage on the driveway.
I don’t know if I have ever called your name!
Do you know mine, at all?
All I know that you never left, so there was no need to call.
(Artwork: Piu Mahapatra)
We are editorially independent, not funded, supported or influenced by investors or agencies. We try to keep our content easily readable in an undisturbed interface, not swamped by advertisements and pop-ups. Our mission is to provide a platform you can call your own creative outlet and everyone from renowned authors and critics to budding bloggers, artists, teen writers and kids love to build their own space here and share with the world.
When readers like you contribute, big or small, it goes directly into funding our initiative. Your support helps us to keep striving towards making our content better. And yes, we need to build on this year after year. Support LnC-Silhouette with a little amount - and it only takes a minute. Thank you
Got a poem, story, musing or painting you would like to share with the world? Send your creative writings and expressions to editor@learningandcreativity.com
Learning and Creativity publishes articles, stories, poems, reviews, and other literary works, artworks, photographs and other publishable material contributed by writers, artists and photographers as a friendly gesture. The opinions shared by the writers, artists and photographers are their personal opinion and does not reflect the opinion of Learning and Creativity- emagazine. Images used in the posts (not including those from Learning and Creativity's own photo archives) have been procured from the contributors themselves, public forums, social networking sites, publicity releases, free photo sites such as Pixabay, Pexels, Morguefile, etc and Wikimedia Creative Commons. Please inform us if any of the images used here are copyrighted, we will pull those images down.
How do you think of these things,Piu! I’m speechless. And to express it so sensitively too. I guess an artist is an artist irrespective of the medium. As for your initial query-You can stop wondering.
Every blessed thing in the universe has a thought and feeling.Haven’t I seen it demonstrated just now?
I enjoy every bit of your appreciation and yet get confused. I fall in the trap of believing that I write great. But true works… the one that stays longer… and are profound…require more time and reflection .
I don’t do that!
They are bits of me … quick , random, sketchy. More like those roadside panipuri.
But sometimes… some nights…I read something amazing… something profound of other writer and a spell is casted!!
Thanks for your warm words and the time you spend in encouraging 🙏🏽
Reflection is the antithesis of Inspiration: Old Jungle Saying