I’m glad that you are not me. But if I was you, I would have walked through to see if everything remained sill the same.
A bunch of army visited me in my dream. Infants kept falling on their way. There was absolute silence. When the horses hopped across the dale, to freeze the peaceful land, I stayed numb. I don’t consider myself to be awake at the middle of night. Hence I dream. I have broken chains hanging around my neck. Each of its links, tilted – and tainted. If, and only if they remain attached. I wish. What do they need?
Why do they sly? I sigh. But it doesn’t matter much to the ‘mature’ people. Instead they relish what they witness or feel about infants. Innocence lost. Innocent mortals are burned and buried. In the end, who wins? Who falls? Who fights?
I’m glad that you are not me. My woes differ from yours. Probably it may be lesser than what you possess. And by chance if we trade them, who would carry more? Would you rather sit back and infuse the hollowness with rooms of mirage? It got to be beguiling. Like a feather flying away with the breeze to taste its momentary freedom.
I’m glad that you are not me. But we do have similar faces. We observe things alike. But we perceive them in a different way. My life is limited in my thoughts. The army that crossed the dale, to slay the innocent infants believed to be immortals. Their hearts are frozen. It never cares. It never bleeds. They yearn for blood. Their mind murmurs for triumph. In the end, who wins? Who falls? Who survives?
But I know that good never die. I was also taught that every good thing that we perform will have a brighter side.
If, and only if my ink had lasted for another line, another word would have got tattooed on this page. Everything has its time. I’m glad that I am not you.
If I was you, I would have missed out learning someone so special like you. Let these words find its way. Like jigsaw puzzle resolves a padlocked mystery.