My thoughts rippling into wilderness of imagination

  My thoughts rippling into wilderness of imagination

I don’t know what happens to me sometimes, but my eyes get cloudy with the sentiments--with feelings of wanting to cry. I cry, literally. I know it is silly to shed tears of no worth yet I find no other way than this. I don’t know when it comes to family, village and thoughts of missing someone, I can’t hold back my tears. I know I am little too sensitive but nothing has ever helped me—not my maturity either.

Few years down the line, when fortune unfolds what it has in stored for me, I will have gone little too far from what today and yesterday has offered me. I will have grown up. I will have my own agenda to take up.  My life will have taken me far away. I will have been succumbed to the cruelty of changes. My life will have been burning in the flame of what not things.

The need to stand wise before  my fellow villager; the need to become what everyone expects of me and, the need to come into the forefront of societal belief, have brought me far from my village. Where my family lives, lives my everyday’s’ thoughts. Where my childhood memories in umpteen cries and beckon me from past, there dwells my desire. Where winding, crooked and mound of mud sleep to form terraces of paddy field, roams my mind. No matter where destiny drags me, I have never been able to give up the pleasant thought of my village, which on recollection kills me within.

Those people I love, with whom my childhood has faded and, on whose lap and embraces I have fallen, lingers in my heart as an unforgettable memories. Those spot, the plants and birds whose mundane beauty recognize me as what I am, invite me unheard. Those thickets on whose existence I have tread and played--at times counting and calculating, still identify me.

I know in few years time, I will have time to go back home, stay and enjoy what I have been missing, yet everything will have been changed. The small trees which are innocent enough to serve me its shed will have started greeting me and those which greeted me will have withered aged and died. Everything, as natures always does, will have been subjected to a change.

Perhaps, I will have long beards; moustache and youth will have been fading. I will have my own family to take care of; children murmuring for this and that and influences of my wife to spent holiday in her village. Then, I will have gone far from what I am now. I am afraid. I am worried. I will have changed yet there is no armor against the cruelty of uncertainty.