23 Sep 2004

Heaven froze over

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 10:26pm

As I stood before the gates of heaven, I forgot all my doubts, all my misgivings. I shut off all those voices telling me I wasn't the chosen one. Looking upon those golden gates, the wonderful heaven within, I just couldn't wait to get in and sample my own private paradise. Once those gates were laid open, I wandered in, struck by the enchanting beauty, the unsurpassed exquisiteness of all that was offered. Time ceased to exist; my mind could hardly deal with the wondrous feelings flooding me. Nothing, I thought, could describe the sheer happiness that flooded me for those minutes, days, weeks?

More than  the surroundings, the peace which filled every core of my being - the elevating feeling of tranquillity, satisfaction and completeness - that was overwhelming. I was so engrossed by the lovely serenity that I failed to notice the subtle changes. The cold winds of change that blew in from nowhere. A sharp chill suddenly invaded my paradise. I explained it away, like a few moments passing by. Little did I know that the coldness had come to stay, to mar my happiness and steal my comfort.

The change was gradual but increasing each day. The lush trees were stripped off their covers; the blooms wrinkled and fell to the ground. The birds stopped singing and the little animals disappeared. My friends, my mates in heaven abandoned me one by one --- and still I thought that it would pass.

I lived in this naive dream for a while before I came to a small bud. It strengthened my hope, supported my dream. I started at it, the light yellow base blending into pure white at the top. The lonely bud, struggling against a dying heaven. I stuck to it. I knew that until this bud survived, there was still hope. I shielded it from the harsh winds, nurtured it with the warmth of my body and the love from my heart... for an eternity.

But the end, when it came, was unexpected. Focussed solely on shielding the tiny symbol of hope I'd found, I had neglected the life-giver... the small sapling on which the bud was. One day, it withered and dried, signifying a sure death of my small, beautiful bud. Seeing the imminent destruction, yet unable to accept it; I sat with my hands cupped around the soft, fragile thing. For long hours, hope stagnant... and then when I finally opened my closed hands, I saw the death.

The end of everything, the final blow to my flimsy hope. My dreams shattered before my eyes and I could have wept.

How I wish I could have wept...

Comments (11)  Trackbacks (0)   Permalink