Just the right Sunday evening. The nor’easters have hit and the following rains have washed the city clean. The sky has turned an azure once more. A few gallant cars zip through the gray of the street here, cutting through the puddle like Moses did through the sea. The drizzle has brought down the mercury by quite a considerable bit. People don’t mind getting out of their houses to smell the fresh wet earth.
The stage is set. The lights in the audience dim, slowly. The cacophony drowns in a pretentious silence of intellectual traits. The auditorium fades into a darker shade of grey. Up go the curtains. A spotlight kisses the center stage. A 5 feet 11 and a half man walks into the spotlight. And announces, “The Play begins”.
And the play began.
And rummaged through civilizations, eras and cults.
Made fire, invented the wheel, got nominated for the Oscars and invested in mutual funds.
Out-ran the horses and saddled them, wore the shinning armours of knights and kings.
Built summer-castles like paradise.
There the milk spraying from the fountains washed their feet.
Saw wailing babies looking at the sky begging for food and water.
Bellies swollen in
The locusts coming to fields of golden corn and a civilization gone with the wind.
The play dragged women out of the purda and lifted their skirts,
Because the veil wasn’t lowered enough to guard those eyes from their lust.
And the bust, well that didn’t matter.
The Afghan girl with hungry eyes, hollow cheeks and a flat chest,
And 7 fat cocks inside every hole of her body, yet to harvest pubic hair.
And gas chambers made our eyes misty.
And just when the cold queasiness was about to flow abundant
They tell you, “it’s only make belief. It’s a play”.
And then the nightmare started again.
