Life is a box of memories, each in the form a
butterfly. And I have named almost every butterfly.
The butterflies named childhood are the most
colourful. They are in plenty; whenever they spread their wings they adorn my
present. They gift me a smile. Every single time. But day by day they are
flying out of my reach, returning to their origin. I wonder where those moments
are right now; must be stored somewhere, maybe in some unknown dimension of
universe yet to be discovered. As those butterflies fly away the myriad of
colours in the box of my life is decreasing, but still I have a lot to boast
of.
The butterfly named youth has a plethora of
shades ranging from bright to dull, dark to light, intense to mild. Some are
heavier than others. Some are closely attached to others, they fly in groups, I
can’t see them one at a time. They all come together and then when they leave,
they leave behind a trail of raw emotions. Emotions that tell a story, some
complete, some incomplete.
There are countless butterflies from different
phases of life. It is impossible to name them all. Some I didn’t name
deliberately and some just wished to be free from any category. And sometimes I
like nameless things. Kind of strange but it’s true. I like nameless relations,
nameless emotions, nameless aspirations. It keeps us away from scary reality
and liberates in a strange way.
Some butterflies just flew out of my reach though
I tried to chase them and then there are those stubborn ones who are not ready
to move an inch. They stay hidden in a deep corner as if afraid to face the present,
as if scared time will steal them if they resurface. Though they are so strong
that they can conquer the present if they soar up. I wonder if they have signed
a life time contract for that little space in the box.
And this forces me to wonder what kind of
butterflies I am creating in my present. Are they colourful? Are they stubborn
or weak? In future will they gift me a smile? Or tears? Are they enough to
decorate my box when the older ones fly away?
By the way, how many butterflies are there in
your box? Are there any stubborn ones? I am sure there are.
‘This post is a part of Write Over
the Weekend, an initiative for Indian
Bloggers by BlogAdda.’
Memories are very important and your way of naming them as butterflies is very novel and beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Savita:)
DeleteBlogging is the new poetry. I find it wonderful and amazing in many ways.
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