poetry,

All Endings Were Ephemeral

Adarsh Kumar Gupta Adarsh Kumar Gupta Follow Aug 27, 2021 · 2 mins read
All Endings Were Ephemeral
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T
he evening wind moves like the conductor of an orchestra.
The musicians begin softly, shadowing all the paths and fabricating intricate lies and we blindly follow as our curiosity delves us in. It’s the same with the wind. The chirping birds marks the start of an ending of the light. The leaves rattle like a ghost waiting to be noticed. The stars begin to fire up as if showing us its scars and enveloping us in its emotions. And as we are lured, the wind comes to us, talking softly. We find ourselves in love and as the musical melodies meld together and fall in, we find ourselves being played to the music of the shadows of the night.

The evening wind moves like the conductor of an orchestra. The melody builds up and then we are suddenly captured by the night. The wind that felt soft slowly grows cold on us. The stars have us entwined in their stories. The birds that drew us out of our homes have returned to theirs. And the orchestra turns dramatic, with all sorts of highs and lows and in-between those, a few moments of silence. We all find ourselves out in the open, with our selves and nothing but the eerie dark light that nobody trusts. Soon enough, a moment of curiosity turns into a fight. A moment that was flowing away at the speed of time, dilutes and feels eternal.

The evening wind is gone. As the musicians start to cease their instruments, the lie is torn apart; what seemed like an intimate rendezvous with dusk, felt like something wrong. The special feeling of love; the romance was gone. At the wake of the moment, we all seem to come to our senses and try to trace the path we came from. We all suffer from our fantasies; we all try to undo our wrongs. But we still had to come back home. And we run back, severing our fake ties, running back to our roots. It was yet another ending or so it seemed. But my bruises were intact, shining under the moonlight, marking another end in me. As the orchestra ends, we are left with all these emotions in our heads and all these lines, but I was left with so many that it left me behind my time.

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Adarsh Kumar Gupta
Written by Adarsh Kumar Gupta Follow
I don't have the strength to keep writing this.