She calls me Zeba

I lay on the prickly brown-green grass, reading a book. I have a lot of time here, in this dream. This little town in the lap of mountains, pampers me. I feel like a baby again in possession of peace and happiness. I don’t worry about the bills, the job, the monies, the false friends and even the repercussions of being ‘myself’ with a kin. I am far away from all that – I’m with happiness here.

It’s a cold day. The sun doesn’t let me out of its sight even for a second. My fingers are cold and pale. I turn them carefully with my numb fingers – the old, fragile brown pages of the old book. I love its smell.

Not very far from me, is a small hut, smoke escaping its top and floating in white unshapely globs. The clear blue sky looks a shade lighter through them – I like that shade. I remember the cotton candy and hallucinate of a sweet taste. The fire should to be kept alive all day long. I love this house – it is warm and cozy even on the coldest day. It is very small though.

A very kind old lady owns the pretty house and I adore her. She has allowed me to stay in there. We don’t speak each others language and communicate in signs and smiles. I don’t know her name, she never tells me, I call her khala. She never asked my name but she calls me Zeba.

village

(Image: Google images)

Lost faiths…


Lost hopes, lost dreams
Lost all the loved ones
Sitting by the grave…
No prayer on lips
But a dead flower in hand
 
Cracked mud beneath the feet
Bloodied cloths, torn shoes
Dried tears on scarred cheeks
Starved body, empty eyes…
Staring into nothingness
 
Brutal yesterday, cruel today
Snatched away his happiness
Once was safe in mother’s arms
Sitting by her grave today
 
“Why do people fight ma? Why do they kill?”
“Peace will come son, don’t be scared”
“I fear ma, I am scared”
“Have faith my child, don’t give up the hope”
 
Bygone is the caring voice
Familiar sounds replacing it
Sounds of guns & explosions
Sounds of war everywhere
 
Took away a father yesterday
Deprived a baby of its mother’s being
Shook a 7-year olds world today
Crashing everything on its way down
Leaving him with nothing but lost faith!!

©Yogini Patil, Published on short-story.net