One moment, I am the sun that shines in the sky.
Everything revolves around me.
The world is a stage and the spotlight is on me.
I am the protagonist. All eyes on me, waiting for me to carry on the performance.
I am the mighty wind, touching everything, everyone, impacting those around me.
The day begins when I open my eyes and the world halts when I sleep.
The people around me are props in the background.
Each one there to affect, support, enhance, complement, my performance.
Their sub plots are meant to eventually merge into and shape my main plot.
Even when others who shared the stage with me, disappeared, bowed out, I smugly thought, it won’t happen to me. Even if it does, it’ll be sometime in the far far away future.
In another moment, I am a mere speck of dust in an infinite universe.
Tiny. A puppet that can be, and will be replaced once broken.
A fragile leaf on a tree with hundred others exactly like me. Each pretentious enough to think they are unique.
As I bow out one day, I realize no one was even observing my performance. Everyone was busy playing their own roles in their own story.
Each blissfully ignorant. Each a sun in their own universe.
Each convinced that the rain falls only on them. When the sky is clear it’s just for them.
Some foolish enough to believe that the others on stage are the antagonist in their story. Not knowing that they are possibly the antagonist in someone else’s!
Each trying to build a castle, with the limited grains of sand that keep slipping regardless of what they do.
Everytime they feel they’ve made a difference, that the castle is almost complete, a gush of violent wind or a sudden wave wipes it away.
They trick themselves into believing that once their castle is built,it will make all the difference.
Everyone, who they think to be just props in their story, should approve of their castle. (Wonder why?)
It’s important, or so they believe.
They believe that the lights will go off once they bow out. They couldn’t be more wrong.
People will barely notice their castle. If it’s mighty or tiny. Once in a while maybe someone will appreciate it saying “what a fine castle” but that’ll be all.
The show will go on without them.
In the end they’ll realize it was never about finishing the castle, or what others thought of it, it was about how did they spend their time trying to build it. How did they perform their parts?
Did they rush through it? Focused only on the end result and forgot to enjoy?
Were they proud of it?
Maybe one day they’ll realize they were neither the sun, nor the leaf. They were pages, each filled with its own story. A story that no one knew the end to. A story that was unique in its own way. But never alone, for there were hundreds of pages of equally unique stories.
Sometimes overlapping with others, sometimes a little off the plot, but always progressing towards the end. Happy ending or sad? Did it really matter?
Copyright ( c ) [ Sneha P ]
Image – self clicked.