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Swapnil, Sarah Aldama

May 9

Piece by Swapnil. Image titled “Snooze” by Sarah Aldama. 

Mist was levitating all around, but not too much; just enough to paint the untraceable cold air with pastel shades of gauzy white, white somewhat similar to the lissome sheet of snow layering the ground beneath my feet, white slashed by scruples of peaceful eerines. The spruced up coldness left my nostrils sore, imparting fading shades of red to my nose. My lithe steps acquired a sanity of their own, taking me over the slithery floor that blinded my senses with its achromatic glimmer. The blunt sound of those steps resigned to the chimeric coils my fingertips were tracing over the voids in the air around that marked fulfillment. This part of nature that yawned in every inch of my vicinity and beyond filled all the lacunas that I was aware of but could never name.


I was all alone there, or maybe I had the glacial air accompanying me, but that was all. The solitude kept sneaking inside my sobriety, moulding with it in quiescent moments. There were trees around too; they all were merely dried, dwindled barks. I wondered if they were gulmohar trees or if they flowered with some bedazzling, white-petaled flowers. They were all leafless but still so full of life- silent life, bearing a prim, sobersided mien; and the wind’s frothy whispers over the shrouded woods played a latent, almost unheard, melody. There was an untold satisfaction in this colourless segregation, or maybe this monochromaticity was the most appealing colour to me. That was what I had always wanted to call beautiful, I suppose.