Friday, May 2, 2008
On Writing Again...
Blue, the colour of his eyes.
I have never seen eyes of this colour. The kind which one could delve deep in, the kind that makes you feel comfortable just by looking at it. Something about eyes like the sky which makes one bares the soul easily. John, is his name. These days however, they are speckled with grey. The sky had lost its colour. It had turned gloomy. The war made them so and it clearly showed on his face.
Now on a scorching summer day, I am cleaning his floor. It eventually was rid of stains and now it shines but I wonder if light will ever shine the same way in John’s eyes again. They look like two cold pebbles. As I busied myself with preparing his meal, I could not help wondering how it must have been when his wife and child were around. They were the only ones who could made those eyes smile.
He, like so many brave and courageous men in his town took up arms when word of the war broke out. He, like so many others believed in a better tomorrow though leaden with heavy hearts at leaving their loved ones. War ravaged, the country fell. John berated the heavens when he arrived to an empty hearth. The ability he had to help others whenever and however he could by feeding their bodies or lifting their spirits when he was in the trenches had left him. All his dreams and sacrifices of a better life for his family had come to nought. He is now a broken man. Leonardo da Vinci said “The eye which turns from a white object in the light of the sun and goes into a less fully lighted place will see everything as dark.”
Until he comes to terms with his loss, I can only hope for a breeze across the blue sky on a summer day and by that time, I hope the town too has recovered its laughter.
1:49 PM
