Sunday

here goes another weekend, another Sunday, another week, and now comes a new one, full of it's pushes and pulls,deadlines to meet,things to learn, things to sort out, it's quite a handful already,
I remember tricksters of childhood day, juggling so many balls at a time,the glass ones, the one in the intent eyes of the kids, the watchful ones of their parents, the disapproving ones from Know-Alls,expectant ones of his kid little tatter=wrapped kid standing nearby, the reproachful eyes of a wife who wanted a better quality of life, who thought his Hero will make it in life, The eyes of envy, the eyes of resentment,m of deceit,the eyes of the monster named fear. I used to see all of them, miss few sometimes. I still wonder what stuff heroes are made of; is the act of survival not the Heroism enough for the juggler? oor making it big, earning money makes a Hero? or dying at hands of known and unknown aliens, or killing them makes you a Hero?
Or you become Hero if you break new ground? or rather break new acceptable ground?
A hero is someone who is the lead character in a play, who takes forward the inherent message of the play as against a villain who serves to provide a measuring stick to judge the message.
I guess Sunday is a good time to ask this question, what is the message that i am carrying in this play?
Second question would then be whether this is the authors message or the counter message?

A Train

We met one dark (K)night. it must have been breezy, i don't remember anything about moon though..nevertheless, the night was beautiful as in the James blunt song-a night that wasn't really with you..On that breezy night, as i was waiting for a train on a desolate platform,i realized that i will never be with her again..All through the day, i had kept my fists tightly clenched, tight and tense, in way that i had learned in brick-brake class. There came the moment, as i tried to flick my hair away from my eyes, my fists startled me.they had melted, metamorphosed into a beautiful stone, they had turned cold- red and white,they had let go of all i wanted to hold as a souvenir.
I felt a shiver of happiness run down my spine, I felt my jaws relax, i saw a smile on my face as my stone-hands dropped back. i knew i was free..
I saw her form walking away,hair caught in breeze, playing along, I figured she was waiting for the same train.i felt an intense longing to follow her, prudence didn't allow me to..but i couldn't help staring at her..
naaz ada,andaazon se ab hay pilana dor hua
ab to kar deti hai keval farz adaayi madhushala..
I recollected this couplet by Harivansh ra bachchan as started to walk back towards my solitary bench