A chance discovery, in a stifling attic—in the alcove, bottom of a box, a slim journal, un-named, un-signed, windows on another reality, slowly comes alive.
As the slender fingers open the double red-ribbon bow with trepidation, dusty history stirs between the blue covers of the hand-stitched notebook.
Desires, hurts, hopes, anatomized; frank, honest voice heard from a black hole.
Dormant butterflies flutter, reanimated by a fresh breath.
Spectres simmer in perpendicular beams in that closed space.
Scrawled in red ink, clustered images release from obscurity.
Roses kiss the sallow pages with red lips, petals pressed tight to the lines.
Touched by a golden sun, hazy moments waltz back, unbury moods, feelings.
Inside forgotten relic, old heart beats again: familiar S1 and S2, lub-dub sounds.
Visions, revealed, in a long hand for the new eyes.
Pink dawns. Birds in flight, in a gathering storm. Wingless creatures fly through barred windows over choppy seas and treacherous cliffs, armed soldiers in pursuit.
“Uncaging” pops up from an abyss:
Veiled figures congregate in the shrine
to sing songs, forbidden forever, for some,
away from the prying eyes, in a dim forest
lit up by the fireflies, each shadow now
solidifies into a face with dreamy looks,
each tune lends a
distinct voice, unlocks chains,
and points towards a free sky.
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Sunil Sharma
Picture John Everett Millais
Sunil Sharma
Academic |Writer | Critic | Editor | Freelance Journalist | Reviewer | Literary Interviewer
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