LIFE

I am writing this sitting on my bed on a cold Sunday night looking at the innocent drops falling from above. The wind keeps blowing and and the night keeps getting darker and darker. I am a sentimental man. I cry,I smile,I laugh,I hug. Thats how i live.

It was almost seven in the evening when i was walking in front of a house. I heard a door opening. I could smell food prepared and ready to be served. The door opened and two expectant were looking at me with curiosity and a feeling of enoromous happiness. I realised i was strolling in front of a house being the apparent son of a waiting mother. There was so much to be told and so much to be heard. A day's work, a relaxed mind, two old hands and the smoke of incense sticks. Mother, a feel of perfection, an ocean of purity, the reflection of god. Every fold of her skin on her face had a story to be told. Every ray of light gave her a moment of anxiousness. The cuddles at night, the warmth in the cold, those sacrifices made and those sweets in the boxes. I didn't expect a face, in a dimly lit room, through a half open door could spill a tear from my eyes.

The door opened and two other old hands rested on her. I saw a photoframe of a boy on the wall.

"He is not going to come".

"We have lost him."

I could see her eyes wet as the door slowly closed in the vicinity of a fading light. Tears in my eyes and it started raining too.