Snippets of the mind by Gagansvaid

Flowers that form garlands,or which are used to decorate homes,leave a lingering essence,of celebration and of utmost... Posted by Artist Address on  Tuesday, 10 November 2015

I meet him, his eyes smile. A cracker in hand, he crosses a mile. Implants the 'rocket', into its stand, and runs. In the next moment, the rocket guns, high in the sky! It bursts, spreading, into many sparks, oh, what a life lied, in the rocket, that warred. "Pollution, pollution!", I cry, I leave, I am not surprised. He laughs, and says, "You did the same, it's my turn now." I return, comfort myself inside, my home. It has been a mile, of a time that I fired- crackers, It was late, that I realised- it was not soothing, it hurt me, the air- that forms me. Pitying myself, of my past deeds- I went back to the kid, and cautioned him- "Do you want to be, at a place where you see me?" He replied, "I don't care, you're just afraid, of firecrackers."