Sepulcher of Breached Mouth

Ride it! Bridle it if you deem with intrusions …run, hush! It is a long way to go –a land; unknown, intangible that no one alive knows of but has its corporeal silhouette in dreams. Race is like a continuous war, unstoppable, measuring from twenty inches to six feet –down. A battle between two swords started soon as they woke up. A scuffle or probably a skirmish was going on from the day first. They were made stickler to the war. It was obvious to bang and stabbing the backs and knocking the fronts. Many a times, it got lost in its own deafening sounds emerging from within and the bangs it had not an idea where they are coming from.



In a far farm house crops were getting ripened. Here, another battle between pestilence and worms was at pinnacle. Spider used to adorn this place with cobwebs to ensnare and entrap the delightful sounds of flute –the melody that pests used to listen to and the bangs that swords used to cherish.



So melodious –no anomaly, no slipslop –so cozy and so serene. Flute always had grisly thoughts of detention of its melody. This conception was nothing new because it has already happened with the rhymes of the music. A dark shadow once came and despoiled the notes leaving behind a dumb pulse without any sound. From that day on the flute was scared of abduction especially when swords used to listen to its sounds.



There was a turtle in nearby well, slow and steady it was and had had no race to win or lose. Silent was it throughout its life. It mustered all of its courage once and talked with the dark shadow one night. Why you have abducted the music, the rhymes, the melody, the sounds and you didn’t see the flute, the strings, the guitars, the pianos and the violins. The dark shadow became even more brim and showed itself to the turtle. Startling was the view –it choked and smothered. There was nothing inside except words and speeches, leaving the turtle speechless too. It tried hard to speak but could not speak up. Words have their beauty even in darkness, as silence sometimes in swords, in pestilence, in webs and in snares. Perchance, hard to believe as to snatch the melody from flutes and rhymes from strings. Words are sometimes defiant, insolent or wayward but are not mistaken always.



The battle between words and silence …two swords. Flute sings and swords listen, speechless sometimes the words are. Not always insolent but silent as a pray, a wish, a tear, a breath –a war. The war between two swords will continue till the whole web is knitted and swords will listen and flute will be scared.

Written By T.S

Good one