Guai?

The lanes were getting narrow, the shadows starting to loom.

Bougainvillea never had it so good. Ibrahim did not know what to expect, nor was he trying to expect any. He kept on walking. The tunes changed with every turn. Now, this was getting bizarre. How come this was so abrupt yet ever ending! So assured was he of the conclusion that he was no longer concerned with the closure anymore. It was the journey he was geared up for. The wilderness and the wantonness with which the bougainvillea grew, flanking him on both end, made him feel secure, though strangely. May be it was because he was out of doors, in the open land, after a relatively long time. He was getting tired of lurking you see. But from whom? We are yet to see, of course. But yes, all this naturaleza was doing him good, or so he liked to believe. But, he knew that the journey has not begun yet, not in real. No, not yet. Only he was out, finally.


.... to be continued.

De Este Modo

It was a cold Winter night, Ibrahim was engrossed in his after dark hours introspection inside the tranquility of his one room apartment. Life is one amazing 'jack-in-the-box', he finally inferred. Sigh.

The kettle was whistling meanwhile. He walks towards it, turns the knob, prepares a cup of black tea. There are grand pleasures in small deeds. Ibrahim then walks towards his balcony for his everyday surveillance of the night sky. The tethering bonds suffocate him. It's only during this hour that he feels completely untangled, being alone in the overpowering lightness of the night. He awaits tomorrow once again.

...to be contd.