By Rachita Panda
“You think you are the painter, but you’re the canvas.”John Green
You never realize how much brighter the night sky is till your eyes catch the silhouette of trees on it! I don’t know why these memories are the skies I always look at even when I know all they do is bring the maps to life; maps that were once carved by the cartographers on the fragile pages of this heart’s book. It’s my book, but I am not the author. Neither can I choose the author. And, now, I know all these maps are memories are capable of doing is letting the ink of the cartographers sink deeper and deeper till the lines are so deeply carved that the ink spills out, to smear the fragile paper my heart is made of. The smears- all of them are merely stains on it, but for it, for its sky they are the silhouettes that make them beautiful to look at.
I wonder how extraordinary it is that the sky you look at is what fills your poetry and also shows you the long lost pages, that aren’t the pages of the book but lie inside it, hidden between two pages. It’s like you start with one thought and eventually end up with a million. Because everything that was, that is, and that will be is a tiny chunk of a story. You look at the sky and ask yourself the same question, every time. And you think about the same grass that you sit on, every evening, the same night, the same moment, the same past, the same dreams, the same feeling. And yet, there’s always a tiny change in the way you look at the same things. That’s maybe because every moment is not the same! And the same memory is a tune you listen to over and over again and still come to realize something entirely new about it! So, the same tune can make your heart dance and also make it ache a little some time!
And maybe, all we’re capable of doing is listening to this playlist, with our eyes looking up at the sky and letting the ink change to a darker shade while watching the silhouettes being formed, some above and some within. All of them being beyond our reach.