Portaiture

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A deep, brown bough reached across a green pond. A million leaves around it trembled. The reflection of these arboreal twitches creased an already rippled surface even more. Water registers such synchronicity.

The world was green. No sunshine. No stars. No moon. No wind. No grey clouds. Just a soft world seen through layers and layers of leaves.

Whilst passing, one wondered why one had seen such a sight. Had it been a few minutes later or a few minutes earlier, one would have missed it. But one saw. One remembered. One translated that memory, crudely, into faltering words. Why?

My life - a sad, quiet Mona Lisa. And it's purpose - a slight, silent smile.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Reminds of Tagore's poem: On the nature of love...

http://blinksview.blogspot.com/2006/12/night-is-black-and-forest-has-no-end.html
8:58 AM
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