Gazing delightedly at the dark clouds
She said, “Look! Blue rain is about to fall!”
Silly girl, we chided.
Didn’t she know that rain had no colour?
Lost in her own mind, she was
Always seeing color where there was none-
Purple trees, ashen flowers, green tongues
But the most striking was the red grass;
“Crimson,” She would whisper
“Spattered all over the earth.”
“Crimson.” She would shudder
“Crimson rivers flow through the lands.”
So it was no surprise
When she called the rain blue.
But floating through the brazen skies
The rain did fall blue.
So this is part of my new 3 part series called ‘Crimson River.’
I’m not sure if it got conveyed, but this is about
a war veteran with schizophrenia.
Do read parts II and III
She felt the wind brush against her hair
She was getting closer
The incessant chatter in her brain like swarming bees
She needed to get to the beach, faster
She felt it gnawing at her skin
The melancholy voices urging- faster, faster
2 yellow squares- fast approaching
She closed her eyes
She finally woke up at the beach.
Somehow, between food and music and
Books and movies and art and laughter
We found Paradise.
Because perhaps that’s what Paradise is.
It’s not some promised land,
But the area between shared joys.
That tiny sliver when you have something wonderful,
Something joyous in common
With another person?
That pure, untouched space
Where everything is good
And nothing hurts anymore?