Budding and Withering

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Sleep has become precious. Peace has become priceless. As we grow, as we mature, as we understand human conditions, both of them fade. It becomes more evident why the dog cant have a deep slumber and dreams like its puppies. It becomes more evident why flowers do loose up their fragrance as they mature. It dawns why so many faces out in the world don’t have are not cheerful.
A sleepless night cannot ferment dreams. An insomniac cannot conceive hopes for morning. 
Reflecting on things around now, it becomes visible that rose does not becomes a rose blossom from its cork. It takes time to grow into a bud, and than into a flower and than finally into a wasted flower derided of any color or glow. It comes to this world with lots of promises cuddled in that bud. It unfolds its riches taking all the time- as if it does not wants to open up at all. It’s but an eventuality that it is too subjugated to. It can’t deny the process. It has to bud, bloom and wither.
 Roses don’t speak. Dogs don’t speak. But don’t they feel or express themselves?Earlier I would have said no. Now I cant say no.

 Sooner or later everything you thought you’d left behind comes around again. For good or ill, it comes around again.

Stephen King, Insomnia

The stillness in the body of a dog. The numbness in his old eyes. Its loss of interest in wandering his tail to his caretaker. Its lack of interest in barking at the neighbor’s kid. All express its resigned feelings. It feels that as if it knows that nothing more than this is going to happen. It’s the realization that this is all the good or bad it will have. There is nothing beyond the horizon.
Every time I close my eyes I have so much to think. I have so many unfulfilled dreams. I have so many un-chartered plans. I have so much to do. And yet I am so mystified. My weak memory says I was not the same some years back. There was no mist in my head. It was all clear like the winter snow flakes. At that time I fond those flakes of desires wonderful. I was unaware that flakes can also freeze. It has frozen all those dreams. All that euphoria. All that clarity.

Every time I see people around, I find similar vibrations. I try to stand by them. I try to ease off some of their uneasiness. Maybe the talk-warmness could defrost some of their pleasant memories and bring smile to their faces like the glow of that peach flower that blooms dazzling pink in snowy autumn. Maybe.
But in a world deprived of hope, seems they have lost faith in fellows. Maybe phone batteries, buried below their pillow, provide more warmth and hope. May be they feel that phone cannot smile on the face of their weaknesses. May be they just want to champion their shortcomings on their own. May be they believe in themselves.
Maybe, they are like me. Who want to continue their struggle of demystifying ? Who want to fight it alone and get back to fellows to enjoy the glory. 
Maybe
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