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Dreadful Dusk

Dreadful Dusk
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Dusk had fallen heavily over the frail film of the jaded river.  Every wave had carried much filth today. Muck of imprudent figures and bitter quivering of human heart too had dumped aborted emotions. Venomous rattle and hoot of hypocrites on one hand and drum beating of politicians on the other assisted with their cynical predicaments had mitigated the flow. Fallen fortune sheltering unobtrusive heartaches had yet again molested the men of the vicarage, otherwise, divine umbrella meant to put off the scorching sun. The marrow of a vigilant crimson seraph up there had turned the entire locale deadly pale because the water currents today like last Sunday had pushed a corpse from an unknown place.  The bulged mass of that dead man clad in a tattered bathrobe recalling anglers at the bay of their silver wedding. Those fishing rods losing the much-laboured baits had nothing to take home save bruised sobs like a freshly sliced breast bone at the horizon, calling it a day.   Thick clots of blood like a jelly fish were involuntarily moving across the vast above, calling the birds to return, inspiring the owls to hoot at the human beings. The hooting of any kind carries panting pulse to the desired end. These screams either irritate a section of people or topsy-turvy a sky kissing tower of claims.

The floating dead body touched the last step of the shore. Its orchestra had long been destroyed beyond repairs. Few deep cuts beneath its left armpit had one thing in common. The commonness was well perceptible.  This time the bard at the horizon was a casualty of monochrome. No pluralization as described ‘Semantic thrust’, but one mighty scarlet colour from earth to ether. Down at the bay, a decomposed mass of human flesh and right above the mountain line, a masculine might of dreadful ruby with its infinitely scattered hem. The edges of this impressive piece of poignant foam of misfortune were carefreely waving and tossing the bullet ridden wrathful perspective of human agony.

And the scene at the shore too was similar.  A copy paste kind of kidding. The sun was sinking below the horizon like a solitary boat at the curve where the cleavages of the river and human eye had never met. Every boatman had stopped. The dead body was released from the clutches of evil residing in the depths of the river. Someone pulled inhumanly. The arm got detached like an incisor at dentist’s clinic. The suffering at the clinic is both hilarious and solemn. We pay to eradicate our friendly tooth and we cry for its being treacherous. The limb opened that pitiful swollen chest that might have been a reservoir of thousand dreams. The chest was exposed like a dead mass in the desert by vultures. His face was pale like thousand stars being paraded up there to shed their light. Those swollen cheeks had framed the last moment. May be he was killed, brutally killed. Who knows, guess workers and gossip mongers were playing tug of war. Everyone at the shore claiming accuracy of their guess work like their old watches to remember the exact time of dead man’s rebirth. From the tentacles of the devil to humble human hands. Well, guess is a guess, why on the earth one’s accuracy can’t be challenged. A dead body among calm currents was asking many questions like those slow moving ripples trying to carry the pulse to its destination but failed to touch the shore. These unaddressed woes of water currents would anyway transport human sobs, but on their way to a destination like thousand sighs in the atmosphere, none being heard or hired like a suppressed race under the jack boat of a dictator who promotes ‘termination’ for a particular race.

With blood up there in the sky and the gush of fortune down in the dale─ a wonderful blend of human imaginations and ultimate Will, with one submitting before Ultimate and the other winning the race by establishing a broken link.

A chilled bundle of human flesh at the bay for at least served a sensitive mind and yet a few over sensitive idiots had plugged their nostrils. The sinking sun was recording all these human activities at the bay where a swollen body of that dead man was being packed before making the event viral. Most of the young men around were recording proceedings on their mobiles. May be out of fashion or out of obligation to help the family in recognizing the dead man who was fished out of the river with a crimson headgear of the day sealing the radiant face of the sun. The sun had long been engulfed by the ‘colossal movement’ of the earth and for a dead man lying in the bay had already paid his last homage. And we all at the bay were still waiting for our turns.


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Disclaimer: Views  expressed in this article are those of the author’s and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position and policy of Oracle Opinions. 





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