Dibyendu's WallScript

Lo, darkness was, is, and ever shall abide.   When Tamerlane and his hosts did raid this land, the maidens were borne away like spoils of war. Yet still mine own dreams climb the stair unseen, buying fair morns with the coin of a pawned past. Battles we bury, safely forgot; for B ā bar ’ s swords did towns efface entire, and Darius, crimson upon his path, strode unto Greece with bloodied hand and brow. Yet were these ways not noble, though the chronicler—one-eyed and crooked— did name them hero’s tale. Darkness was, is, and shall remain.   In solitude seek I a dawn anew, gazing upon wounds that glisten as bright coins. In Avanti’s dust-bound halls where love lay slain, there lingereth Ajivika Makkhali’s corpse. In brazen age, upon the beaten road, the Brahmins walk, their path cleansed by pitcher’s pour, whilst shudras, nameless, scourged on buffalo’s back, bear welts of lash, chained in kshatriya law. Yet Ajivika Makkhali rose in defiance, rebellion carved upon his dust-worn ...

Time has passed— let it go. Life was lived, for a while the feet can hurry through this muddy path.   Then it turns— red earth gone, black tar stretches ahead.   Let darkness fall upon the road, the wanderer of horizons with iron steps.   The sun in his hands— with warmth let it brand the pain, erode the stone.   The trees move away, the green canopy slips and vanishes.   At the yellow horizon’s end of day, in the guise of the outcast, one stands waiting— asking only for the last release, the Ticket.

The morning arrives in a soft light, sketching the day with care, and within it rests a quiet, lonely dream proposal of youth. Then comes the reckless joy of summer, fierce and wild, entering every child’s heart with the promise that one day in dreams, the rhythm of worldly valleys will be filled.   A free soul rises, seeking a height above the trees, while the books once cast down upon the earth burn their pages in the warmth of a hearth. Rivers dry from winter’s breath, emotions freed from silt— and tell me, was there a better way to become human?   Here is where decay will settle, here the conviction of the heart, here forever the flame of a clear day glows. There is a joy in knowing, and so I rise on wings toward the sky. But who gave you the right to measure my time? The sun at noon now washes every ache away, and without a sound begins its slow descent— light fading until life’s next chapter calls.   What the world has lost, where shall I seek it today? Summer speak...