Angel and the Devil Part-2

"Why are you laughing?” asked the devil.


“Ummm, it’s just that---I am---Happy!” the angel screamed with joy, the gay laughter, over joyous and twinkles in eyes.


“Why are you happy?” asked the devil irritably, but rather curiously.


“Because I have the right to be happy” said the angel drunkenly, his mind straying in the meadows of love.


The devil remained quiet.


“It is the time” he said to himself, while he was looking at the angel lost in his joys, his eyes distant but filled with dreams of love.


“Yes it is the time”, the devil said again, rather enthusiastically, and went on.


“It is the time for spring to go and autumn to come, for day to go and night to come, for breeze to go and storm to come, for flowers to go and thorns to come, for joys to go and pain to come, for this damn happiness to go and regrets to come! Yes it is the time!” the devil smiled, although it was difficult to do so, but he did it anyway.


After all it was his time.


Now the devil was looking at the angel.


Then, quietly, with conscious movements, he went to him.


The angel was sitting in a corner, legs curled up and head hidden in his lap.


Then, the devil put his hand over angel’s shoulder.


The angel looked up.


His face, that was just a moment before, blooming like a flower, was now drooped,  his cheeks were wet with tears, his eyes were blood shot, lost and very distant, his golden hair were gone from his scalp, and there were scars and thorns embedded in his scalp. His white dress was smudged with brown and red, it was surely mud and his blood.


The devil took a long breath as if to confirm his joy and relief, and cunningly asked,
“O dear! What happened to you? What have you done?”


The angel was now stealing his gaze, as if embarrassed.
“No it’s just---- that---- I—am not in a good mood.” He finally said, trying as much as he could to pass a smile.


“O dear! Is it also your right?” the devil asked with aroused curiosity.


The angel now understood everything, and looked at the devil desperately, his eyes watered.


The devil passed a cunning smile.


“No, it is just that--- I am --- not having a good time.” He remarked, hesitantly.


“Or maybe you have a bad habit and you have a right to---“


“I said nay, I am not having a good time!” the angel interrupted the devil, his body language now desperate.


Now it was the devil laughing and screaming, with gay laughter, over joyous and twinkle in eyes.
“Haha! You do have bad habit, my dear Angelo! You do have a bad habit to be--- BLIND”, the devil shouted, laughing endlessly.


While the devil was twisting on the floor with fits of laughter, he saw angel got up and fly away. To cry at some other place. In a corner, with legs curled up and head hidden in his lap.

Angel and the Devil Part-1

"So you really think there is a song worth telling about?

The song that might wretch you to death,

And send you to eternal damnation!

Aren't you afraid to take this step?

Isn't this so unnatural?

Your gay laughter and ultimate joy?

Ah, I guess you were mistaken u lousy dreamer!

It might turn into thorns for you!

Behold, stop the nonsense or you shall be doomed!", said the devil.

"Alas, you are so fearful!

What makes you really so dark?

It is the thrill i taste, so full of life it is,

That in me I find the essence of each symphony it speaks of,

And without it, I shall rather be doomed,

And for it, I might even risk eternal damnation

Or whatever it shall be,

Such is thy song of love,

A song worth telling about!", so said the angel.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed...

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where colors are brighter, where sounds are clearer, where sights are more obvious, where smells are more familiar.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place of freedom and bliss, where the self is nurtured in the wildest of care, where dreams are made with sudden dares, where life learns flight, where wings are broken down.

It is the place soaked with unknown familiarity, drenched in forgotten yearnings, pregnant with mystical myths, it is a place where every detail is known to be known for, and every door is opened to be closed….

 Where history echoes in every corner, those laughter are still held in the air,  those shrieks are still somewhere, under the sky and above the earth, is a place where spirits live under the stairs, and man in the painting constantly stares.

It's about a trance where stars are above watching, an unknown audience, watching every move, sometimes delighted and sometimes gloomy, where air around is rejoicing over the arrival of springs,  where flowers were brought to be drooped, where dreams were made to be doomed.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed Is the place of various languages, chillies, and wheat flour. Where that tea strain is still somewhere speaking of its story, those dust grains pushed to the corners are still waiting for their trial, where secrets are still their under the hollow space between the cabinets,  where secrets long forgotten are still prevailing.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is the place where lizards have lain eggs, where ants parade under the hedge, where doors once creaked, where windowpane were broken down, where autumn brought dried leaves, and storms brought layers of dust, spring brought flowers of rejoicing, where winters were passed beside the fire, where waiting was once the only option.

Where emotions are not vague, where music is also made, where guitars are played, where the songs once sung stay. It is a place where toys are brought to be broken down, where secrets were hidden to be forgotten, where care was once taken to be deserted, where attentions were once given to be forgotten, where the footprints are still the evidences of crimes done, and broken dolls are the memory of rooms once decorated. 

Where fairy tales are still fabulous, where the prince went away from the backyard and never came back, and the princes cried behind the guava tree, where the deserts produced flowers, and gardens produced thorns, where nature was reversed, were rules were turned, where loved one cried and the devil rejoiced.

Where angels sat on the shoulders, and prayers were offered at the top most attic, where walls were climbed, were mischief were dealt with, where love was offered some day, and rejection was the fate the other day.

Where foundations were laid, and doubts were born. Where insecurity crept within, where darker truths faded away, where conscience is clear and the soul is at bay...

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place where mud was once played with, where gardens were once maintained, where mud was left to become dust, where gardens were left to be destroyed, where honour was kept above all, and idols were thrashed into parts, where stories were stolen thousands of, where trusts were broken many times.

Its a place where habits developed, where intimacy prevailed, where silence speaks of those weeping souls, where opening of windows brought joyful news. Where small details are still untouched, where small realities are still unravelled, where that unknown corner is waiting for centuries to be discovered, where God of small things is still a picture of no recognition.

...Where the trunks are still locked, and gutters are still blocked, where the books are dusty for years, where pages are still to be turned, where familiarity has crept deep into the unknown, where surprises are gone away to stray, where there is no cause, where there is no awe, where everything is boring and soul is bounded.

Where future was dreamed, and present was lived, and past was gotten. It is a place of nostalgia and of past, of mystical paths and mythical pavements, where drama was tragic and the audience was awestruck.

It is as soft as the cradle of mother, as secure as arms of a lover, as regretful as thorns of the past, as painful as the memory that lasts.

A place where love is born, fed, brought up and shed is a place with different destinations where love has always been enough for us to hate, go away, and eventually come back. Where love has always been enough to let us leave. The place where everyone belongs, a place safe as home, a place called home.