Crippled Soul (standard:fantasy, 1417 words)
Author: Muhammad Nasrullah Khan	Added: Nov 05 2001	Views/Reads: 3385/2314	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A woman who meets an image of past

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

is sitting in the dark and aloof place of this very old, city railway 
station; it was his favorite place then, too! I can see him lost in 
deep thoughts. What is he thinking? Yet, his thinking has not reached 
to the logical end. Except for me, nobody knows that this silent man's 
voice can move the statues; his thoughts can melt the frozen brains and 
his words can purify hearts. Alas! Nobody knows but one who has locked 
his tongue. A desire to talk to him, at least once, overwhelms me. 
Something inside me is pushing me towards him; something is quenched in 
me that wants to burst out but something equally strong is stopping my 
movement. I am like a person whose feet are chained but stormy air is 
pushing him forward. What can I do except fall? Yes, I am a fallen 
woman. Does he still remember me? I do remember once he said: "In this 
tiresome journey of life, sometimes somebody stops us to make us 
relaxed. He makes us laugh. We laugh so much that our eyes become wet, 
then suddenly that person says good bye because he has to go on his own 
journey, towards his own destined direction. In the beginning we remain 
lost, missing those heavenly moments, remembering everything about 
which we laughed. After a few days, we forget the thing, but we 
remember the laughter and wet eyes; after more days, we forget laughter 
but those wet eyes remain alive. Then time comes that we forget even 
those wet eyes. Alas! We die without even taking a bit of those 
cherished moments. Death cleans everything, while making its own 
memory. We fall down but life goes on to write more mortal tales with 
the same excitement. We see the disloyal life moving swiftly in the 
arms of somebody else, without even looking back to us. Before falling 
down, we try to make her remember her commitments, but our feeble voice 
can't even touch our own ears. We die to be forgotten forever. This is 
the total achievement of life. Our tiring long effort + death = 
absurdity. An awful nothingness! This is the result of life, for whose 
sake we go to the maximum extent of meanness; for whose sake we deceive 
our dear ones; for whose sake we suck the blood of our own species, and 
then suddenly we are deceived by this. At that moment we try to spit on 
it, spit which then returns to our own mouths." I want to meet that 
untamed solitary soul. I want to get rid of this tormenting burden of 
conscience but at the same time, something invulnerable and unburi able 
stops me, I know it is my false ego, which will never allow me do so. I 
know we so-called scholars are slaves of this ego for centuries. We 
will keep on killing such genius by the fatal poison of our suffocating 
mediocrity. Yes, I should move now, people are waiting for me; my lofty 
words are awaited there. Good luck to you, the burden of my soul. The 
End nusar55@hotmail.com


Tweet