The Gramophone

He has been sitting on that old teakwood table even before i was born.
He has an intricately carved beautiful golden mouth that opens wide.
Yet he hasn't grown old and never will.
The countless songs played on him are a proof of my family's legacy and what we stand for.
The music, the records, the voices. All these make me feel just as happy as I had felt the first time I heard them.
He is indeed really old now but hasn't broken apart yet and never will.
His voice has this kind of a base that cannot be created today.
The symphonies that come out of his huge golden mouth fill the whole house with notes of the memories that are attached to each of those songs.
Every person in the house- be it my little brother or my great grandmother- has some or the other memory attached to the old guy.
He has never let go of these memories and never will.
That little needle on him that has run endless races on the record disk, is still as sharp as it was before.
The record disks spin on it just as fast as they used to before.
But the old guy hasn't been used in a long time now.
The needle misses his races with himself, each time to go a little further than the last time.
The old guy's voice has now got a kind of harshness that cannot be created today.
The intricate golden design is now showing signs of fading away.
The old guy wants to scream and tell the whole world that his voice is still the same.
All those songs and memories are still in him and he wants to relive them.
He wants us to listen to all those symphonies and dance again, filling the house with the legacy that my family stands for.
He wants to just keep playing now.
Just play and play and play until his voice starts breaking down and so does he.
But he had never given up earlier and he never will.

The Beach

The Beach

I walked just on the edge of the shore
Where the waves came and receeded back into the mighty sea.
The sun was setting now
And  the sky was now a melange of purple and orange
Odd, the combination of these colours.
It was like the sunrays were trying to
Find their way through, just before going away
One last time, they wanted to open up in the sky
But the clouds wouldn't let them.
The purple now overpowered the orange
Telling it that its time was over.
Each wave  came with a different force, covering my feet.
Each wave left its own mark in the sand.
Each wave left a unique stone or shell.
It was in all peaceful.
And then i woke up.

Woke up to the raging war outside.
To the gunshots and bombings.
To the cries of helpless women and faithful soldiers.
Because it was he-who ruled the world-
Now ruled our little town.
They came in last night like a swamp of bees and invaded us , made us their slaves.
All that we once called ours did not belong to us anymore.
And the beach..
It is now a wasteland
Where bodies now came and receeded into the mighty sea.
Where each wave now came in search of deadly things to take back.
The blood had made the beach red.
And the sky. The sky was now a melange of hatred and savagery.
The beach was now a slaughterhouse.
The beach was not mine anymore.