There we were, standing outside our recently decorated house, watching the fire engulfing almost all the memories we had preserved, and giving out black smoke which was silently laughing at our tribulations, soaring to the sky to let other people know about it too. But what we could do then?
Phone calls had been made.
Prayers were on a non-stop loop.
And eyes….well, some were wet, some were gloomy, some were sad and mine…
Mine were lost…
They refused to shed even a single tear. And our ears were seeking the wailing siren.
The siren of the fire brigade was never so soothing before. Neither I had that much respect for my helpful neighbours, prior to that day.
But it was all black. The sky, the outer walls of my house, and the hope of resting after an eventful (and wonderful) 2 months.
The smoke persisted against its nemesis, water.
An adversity was averted as the gas cylinders just escaped the clutches of fire.
But it was all black.
The inner walls, my room, and my preserved memories.
Those pages, which I cherished, turned black at the corners and lost their roots.
My beloved guitar was nowhere to be found.
Those letters which I had written were delivered to nowhere by smoke.
Still, my eyes didn’t shed a tear.
As what was gone can be built again.
As what was saved, our lives, was more important.
And as the essence of making and enjoying those memories persisted even when the fire burnt everything materialistic regarding them.
Maybe, it was all black except for the colors those memories had spread in my heart; that’s why I didn’t cry.
P.s: I do sometimes miss those things, but it will pass!