Atmakranti

The sky shifts and revolves,
as if a dream among dreams,
reflecting her smile with shades
of twilight the sky is where the
heart lives and blooms

Sitting silent at the top of the world, a woman who has crossed thousands of days and nights hums a song of joy to herself. She once longed for a companion, a lover, a partner in crime — unfortunately all that search she spent half of her youth on, turned out nothing more than in vain. But now she has found her king, whose vastness has no comparison. Every fine day, when dawn breaks turning the world into that of divinity, she rises to her rooftop and holds a dialogue of the heart with the sky.

Humming new songs, at the first ray of day, she bares her heart to the sky who with its clouds and play of light, shimmer in the river of her emerald eyes. She with glee spread over every part of her being, hums endlessly bringing to life all that lay within. Her mellifluous humming draws birds and squirrels from every corner of the little roof who adorn her living self with the boisterousness of life and its intricacies.

Her humming filled with joy yet has a tinge of sorrow, subtle and unobtrusive, a cry for peace she intends the shifting sky to hear. There have been many appearing to be fine men and women, who have betrayed her innocence, despised her goodness and sought to destroy her in both body and mind. Unable to discern the truth, they trampled upon her flowery heart that sought to bloom even the weeds that fed on it. Her tears had paved its way across the parched lands of this evil age where material comfort and self-destruction had become the two sides of the same coin.

But when the sun rose in the sky, spreading far its light of compassion and warmth, her seeming to be ceaseless tears receded to oblivion and a smile as profuse as the light of the sun itself spread across her face. Thus, began her tryst with the skies, where she found hope though surrounded by heartless maniacs!

The sky perceived the sorrow in the depths of her vibrant humming, and revealed the moon who with its tender light pacified the restlessness within that had been suppressed for aeons. With her gaze that held the glint of a child’s immense pure aura, she conveyed to the sky of her dreams how she had fallen in love with its shapeless clouds, and enriching colours that couldn’t be given any price unlike any other treasure in the world.

Which man, with his virility, words, chivalry and might can match the vivaciousness of the infinite skies? Her thoughts emanating fragrance though stormed by an endless array of bitter experiences, her song permeating joy though scattered with notes of a broken heart and her eyes—as infinite as the skies reflect colours that have made her rich.

Who, if not for the skies, has made her see life in a new light! Dreams are realized, and the sky is the king of dreams dreamt by any and all men, thus, the sky is the highest form of realization. Which sage, virtuous or worthy man can be even thought of as a match to the sky ruling the heavens that one dreams of at the approach of the impending end.

The sky would have been death if not for sunrise, sunset and the tranquil brilliance of the moon whom she adores as if her own family. The sky moved by her pristine love and shaken by the indignities she faced for being who she is, kissed her with rain that brought to life the decaying within countless men, and made them great poets.

Renting the air with thunder and lightning the sky too sings a symphony with the entire world as its stage. Ah! She heaves a sigh, and spreads her arms as wide as the horizon to embrace the sky. The cool breeze of autumn and spring swirl and whistle at the witness of such embrace where the infinite has become one with a mortal.

Children moved by such a sight leave behind their merry games and draw smiles across their plump cheeks, for they have seen the truth behind the vast golden-blue. Though there lay a mystery behind the seasons giving way to each other but the day she embraced the sky — winter, spring, summer and autumn shed their veils and manifested instant after instant.

The monkey-king of a rich epic sought the sun to relinquish his craving for a fruit, and she though as innocent as the monkey-king was as a child made love with the skies to relinquish her craving for a sense of joy unheard and unknown.

The sky revolved, turned and disappeared bereft of stars; in that void of inexplicable magnificence, she attained what great and famous trysts of superstars and tycoons failed. A hundred years have passed and men today revere her in their little shrines as the goddess of bliss— infinite and noble without beginning or end.