The petals of dandelions appear delicate yet they are so fearless to blatantly show their beauty. It’s not fragile, or vulnerable in a negative sense.
Getting to show off their uniqueness – the fragility, the vulnerability, the ability to free itself from the flower and wander off slowly, elegantly and settle somewhere unfamiliar – isn’t that stunningly brave? Isn’t that simply incredible?
To be not afraid of your own vulnerability, instead flaunt it and mesmerize everyone in the vicinity by simply being you?
This piece is written in response to the seventy-second edition of Fiction Monday for the below picture prompt and the word prompt ‘BEAUTY’ hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
The above thought was provoked by the simpler times that we enjoyed some time ago, which now feels like was a long time ago. 16 years ago, when I was in college, mobile phones weren’t as popular. There were only some kids who brought their phone to the classroom. Tariffs were still way too high at that time. Phone camera was not that good. But we still enjoyed the functionalities such as games mainly that came with the phone. We couldn’t download new games because there was no provision for that yet.
Phones back then were purely for texting and calling.
Then came out the ones with radio in it. That was revolutionary. The pure joy of listening to songs through the phone was exploited to its max by many of us. I didn’t have a walkman when that was available. Any of you remember walkman? So I absolutely enjoyed the radio on the phone feature as much as I could.
Today, though, I can listen to songs through multiple sources at my will, any time I want to, I don’t do it as often.
That simpler time and its charm isn’t lost on me.
The funny part is I remember vividly the times I used to listen to the songs on the radio, the transistor radio, much more lucidly than any other times.
What do you miss from back then when the times were simpler, but wasn’t easy as it is now?
It’s a wonder that only a few weeks, maybe months ago I was writing, effortlessly. I was, wasn’t I? It wasn’t a far-fetched dream. A figment of my imagination.
After all, if you say so, I will believe that because becoming a writer was always been a dream of mine.
And I did write, I believe. They may not be the most captivating pieces ever. But I wrote. Daily I wrote. Some days I wrote many poems and stories. My pen never showed a sign of fatigue. My love for paper and pen never faded a bit. In fact, it grew more and more with every interaction we had.
Now, I feel they are fed up with me. The pen is not following my mind’s tunes. Thoughts are disappearing into the abyss to the disappointment of my blank page. Words, they are staying aloof. I can hear them sniggering, seeing my blank paper.
I feel like writing was a phase. Now it’s all burned down, leaving no residue behind. The mind is nothing but barren and it whimpers and trembles as the blank pages are filled with no words of relevance but the scratch marks.
I wonder what happened!
This turn of events was unseen. This is unbearable.
When did we become alien to each other!
The unwritten words are causing me nothing but pain. And I have no way of healing until the words start to flow at the tip of the pen once again. I hope that happens!