The Call

Lost in my thoughts, I failed to perceive time and the dusk came with its welcoming song, waking me from a deep slumber and when my eyes blinked upon the yellow disk, sinking in the ocean of darkness, I felt as if I was glimpsing into the prospect of future and the distorted rays of the beautiful sun were desperately trying to once again ascend and bask us in their hopeful light but however much they tried, they failed and with the coming of future, all the humanity was shadowed in darkness and all the world became blind, could look but not see, could touch but not feel, could taste but not perceive until all the nature cried of misery as the night embraced its weeping soul and all the tears turned dark and all eyes blank with laughter hollow and smiles empty.

And one day when in farms and lands, the silence of night was just departing, they heard the sound of trumpet blown…

It was an echo so supple, so tender, so placid like a paramour’s kiss, yet it was strict, coarse, piercing, enfolding all the land, all the trees, all the oceans, all the seas, all the rivers, all the streams with all the flora and the fauna among the rocks along the sand within the clouds in the sky beside the mounts near the hills within the lakes inside the vales and all the passions hidden in hearts with all the hate and all the love with all the anger and all the pain with waning joy beside the stupor, in ending peace or starting turmoil, the rising luck or riding hope with despair hidden under the blanket of joy; or I just saw the trumpet’s voice enfolding the whole of the universe in its alluring embrace until nothing could stay still, the mothers left their children, the young left the old, it seemed as if everyone was lost in his own world, alone and uncaring; and all the breaths of life stopped, all the winds of time ceased, all the tears of love halted, all the cries of hate silenced, all the lyres and flutes, drums and lutes hushed and death became a common thing like Man and the earth, a blank page with the universe, an empty book and only a rare mortal held his precious life, who when looked about, saw naught but an endless desert, feeling as if time and space had abandoned him and even death had become a forbidden door…


The Weaver

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

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