The night sky looked beautiful, glistening and sparkling with stars. The moon light was just enough to reveal what was needed and hide what wasn't.
Three friends lay in the valley, gazing at the night sky and though all of them sat under the same sky, one couldn't see the stars, the other was mesmerized by the beauty of the stars and reveled in its joy.
The third wanted to reach for the stars.
The Scientist was hard at work. He was faced with a conundrum last night, the answer to which he is still trying to find. After a lot of brainstorming he finally finished his calculations. The answer was infinity. Now, in science if your answer is infinity then your calculation is definitely wrong. He checked the math- once, twice, thrice, ...... almost an infinite number of times but the answer was still infinity. He concluded that the answer was indeed infinity.
Finally, the scientist knew the answer to the question "How much do you love me?".
Hello! I'm Green Capsicum. I was born in a green capsicum field; the finest one in the country. I've read in a magazine that we green capsicums are royalty among the other bourgeois green capsicums. All of us are happy here, even that grotesque Red Capsicum singing happily in the rain. May be he doesn't know that he is a red capsicum; what if I tell him and he stops singing? He actually sings pretty well to be honest.
I can't take it any longer. Enough is enough ; that red capsicum has to be banished from this royal abode. He is not one of us and he doesn't belong here. It doesn't matter how well he sings. How has he not noticed that he is a red capsicum? May be he is colour blind.
"Hey Gre... err Red Capsicum , I thi...."
Red Capsicum looked blank for a moment. I was afraid that I had broken him. Suddenly he jumped up and down and started dancing in the rain. Now, Red Capsicum looked the brightest capsicum among the mundane green capsicums standing in the green field. Perhaps it is good to be different.
In a world full of chaos, he grew. Like a flickering candle in a world without assurance, he grew. He flew like a butterfly in the garden of chaos. More chaotic than chaos itself, calm grows in the vociferousness of chaos.
The sun was shining with all its might ; making the earth almost burn. Red hues were raging in the yellow sky. The farmer wiped his sweat off his face and continued his work. Suddenly a vociferous noise broke the calmness. The much revered statesman had finally arrived. The statesman addressed the crowd with much pomp and show. The statesman vowed to take the villagers to the promised land.
The farmer continued his work. The colour of the sky did not matter to him. And neither did the statesman's pompous speech.
The world truly is beautiful, isn't it? Perhaps, colours make this world so beautiful . Colours are delightful. They make our banal lives fascinating. When we see a bright yellow sky with red hues, or a lush green meadow, or a deep blue ocean , we cannot help but be mesmerized by the radiant beauty of this world. Black and white, they aren't really colours you know. But, somehow black and white are the colours that are most important to some of us.
She was blind, but no, she wasn't sad, she was actually very happy. We should all be blind. Blind to the colour of the skin, religion, race and creed.
He saw light in the greyscales of darkness. Dawn in dusk. Spring in autumn. Music in noise. Heaven in the periphery of Hell. Aspiration in a half full glass.
But, the day she died, he only saw death in life.
The Cloud number nine has been following me for the past one week. Wherever I go , it follows me. It follows me down to the valleys, the meadows , the deserts and even the snow. It just won't stop stalking me. People call me a lunatic when I tell them about this grotesque ubiquitous cloud.
Strangely this cloud does not have a silver lining. I don't know why this Cloud of Guilt still follows me. It is bizarre. It did not matter much to me when I shot that soldier on the other side of the border. As a matter of fact, I was on Cloud Nine when my perfectly placed shot perforated the heart of my enemy. I was at a distance and it was dark , but I still managed to hit him. My dexterous shot earned me a lot of plaudits from my Brothers.
My mind has been Clouded with so many thoughts ever since. Maybe he was a Brother too.
The bomb exploded. He was elated. He would finally reach his dream destination. How he had imagined paradise would be like!
The garden of perpetual bliss - surrounded by eight principal gates, each level being divided into a hundred degrees. . Oh how blissfully he would be greeted by angels with salutations of PEACE! Palaces made from bricks of gold, silver, pearls, among other things. Beautiful trees and mountains made of musk, between which rivers flow in valleys of pearl and ruby.
He finally reached his destination. He saw tortures of the Fire: flames that crackle and roar; fierce, boiling waters, scorching wind, and black smoke, roaring and boiling as if it would burst with rage. It was the same fire with which he killed many innocents. Its wretched inhabitants sigh and wail, their scorched skins are constantly exchanged for new ones so that they can taste the torment anew, drink festering water and though death appears on all sides they cannot die.
It was not how he had imagined paradise would be like. He was not in Heaven; he was in Hell.
She stood in the balcony. Numb. Mesmerized by the splendid beauty of the infinite night sky. The infinite sky had so much to offer - the moon, stars, planets, asteroids, meteors, comets. But she only looked out for the stars.
Like the infinite sky, her dreams and aspirations were infinite. She wanted to be a star - the brightest star in the infinite sky. She did not want to be forgotten. She wanted her footprints to be embedded eternally in the sands of time.
She was still gazing at the stars. Numb. Her forefathers blessed her.
Mark could not recognize him. No, he did not look much different but he had changed. He was not the man Mark knew a year ago. He was a simple man back then who led a simple yet happy life. Oh! How times change ! Now, he was a thief . He had stolen - money, jewellery, .... life. Mark trembled as he looked at him. Perhaps, there was still time to change. It is never too late ,he thought.
Just then a policeman fired a bullet which whizzed past Mark and shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces.