A MAN AND A WOMAN

This is not a love story.
Only true.

A Man. There was a man who walked the thin line of "had been" and "will be".
He didn't belong to any of the elements. He mocked Water and Air. Earth and Sky. He played with the Ball of Fire as it transcended different worlds and different time zones. Come Dusk, come Night, I could always find him there. The undeniable Master of Puzzles. The irresistible Quizzer of Riddles and Rhymes.

As he spoke, the meaning of his words became more emphasized with the chords and the scales of the piano lending his words the audacity of a soothsayer. Haunting.
A Woman. The woman shuttled in between different worlds, trying to make two ends meet and never meeting the end, never once belonging to any world.

She was too intrepid for her sex. And too atheist for her religion. She was an element that was not yet discovered. She teased the storms, she made the tension grow deeper with her every leap and slide on the waves and winds.

She was warned many times by the rage of gods and devils alike, that her acts of temerity and insolent heedlessness will be punished. She laughed. "Take this heart, and break it," they had said to the world. But the world looked on helplessly at the heavens and hells. Enigma.

A Man and a Woman. She had fallen here and risen to unmatched impertinence.
The world was His playground.

The spirits has risen when he'd summoned them, mesmerized by the extent of his pertness.

Many dismissed him as imaginary, unreal. They had argued with me: after all, I couldn't see him. But then, I wondered, even a horizon by definition, is an imaginary line. Unreal. Yet, one could see it. Unreal, but your sight could zero in on that line running far far away, with a beginning and continuity, with no grasping end. Infinity. If a so called "unreal" thing could be seen by a mortal eye, imagine what else can be seen if one opened the doors where the power of imaginations lay unsummoned in our cores.

So the horizon, though termed as imaginary, did exist. The only frustrating factor was that it could never be reached! It was there, mocking all of us.
And then who set the parameters of imagination? The extent to which we could let loose, and hold something back? Parameters of dreams and practicality and time? Two hands that dictated all our lives. Mortality.

No, spare the woman these boundaries. She won’t stay here. She set her own imaginations, waltzing in between her Dreams, with the chords of a soft and a violent guitar electrifying her presence. You could see her, but you could never touch her. Her presence and existence similied with that of the horizon.
Visible, but untouched, and unattainable.

And when the world argued with me about his existence and non existence, I told them, "No thanks," and walked away. It was in the maze of all these countless silent defenses that he mocked me, "So, you'll defend me, now?"
I granted him that pleasure.

The woman kept walking on the line, he made it.
He was the ground beneath her feet- she stood tall, unquestionable, and he was the pride.

She smiled and he was the dimple in her cheek, and the twinkle in her eye.
He was nowhere, he was everywhere. In the shadows. In the dark forbidden room of desires. Never together, never apart. Their realization of being inseparable leaving them as they shuttled in the mortal world, only to come back again to both of them: stronger and more violent in their transparency.

They were new instances of inhibition. Naked. Transparent.

He had known what it was to color a rainbow, and she had counted all the colors that could possibly exist here.
They both had refused the crumbs off the world's table. Hunger was such a big issue with them.
The sky struggled to cover both of them. The man moved with the Earth. Fast. Slow. Fast. Slow.
And the woman flirted with the orbit of the planet. Rising. Descending. Up. Down.
Anti- stationary.
From the stillness of a heartbeat comes alive a deep violence. It was this violence that had confirmed both of them the remotest possibility of their sync of heartbeats. Soundless, but alive with a shocking violence. Dangerous. Natural.
There was a thread that connected the Man and the Woman. A certain degree of stillness, and music. The beats of chords, strums and scales mixing together. Subtle, at the beginning, and rising as a tension filled climax.

He defied Death. She defined Life.

He breathed. Her bosom made a movement.

They were the original of the species. And they carried the weight of the concept very well:
It is they who decide/
Whether they live or if they Die/
From each other they mysteriously hide....
The mysterious distance between a Man and a Woman.
And I wake up from a sleepless bed to write their story.