The Wall

There lived a wall.

Dark, tall, impervious and stationary. Fates of the stones and rubble were shaped, chiseled, and assembled randomly with cementitious mortar. The grey, the black, the brown and the yellow - overlapping each other millions of times, mixing with each other in various measures; bizarre yet bold cover skin of the wall. From a far distance, it looked dull and dusty, but every step towards it would give a distinct radiant shine of each and every stone particle; reflecting sun rays. Though its shadow was all pale, colourless and distasteful. Ought to be! Even the prettiest and vivid most flowers have black shadows. This was an ordinary wall after all.

Once, there lived a wall; monolithic symbol of integrity and solidarity. He, the wall, took utmost pleasure and pride in how he stood. His integrity - his undying soul - was rolling and passing through the length and breadth, like a nervous system, and hence, decades had passed and he still had a motionless beating heart. Many events happened around him, blows he took - all he endured; but never leaned, ruptured or collapsed! If only those dents on his skin could tell a story!

Decades passed and he survived all, aged but kept on living, justifying his reason for existence. Skeletons of a few adroit masons were smiling and continued to rest in peace in their graves (a few - who were fortunate enough to get one).

Then, nature intervened.

A random tiny, insignificant and stubborn seed flew out of nowhere, found a suitable dent and died on the surface. The wall's skin couldn't feel this. It all began there.

The dead seed grew roots, feasting upon its corpse, penetrating persistently the depths of the dent which gave him shelter, unknowingly. The wall felt it now, but soon realised he was only built to withstand the visible forces. This was invisible; his own dent betrayed him and sheltered an enemy, who was already growing an army. From distance, the growing army of the dead seed looked distinctly significant now, destroying the glorious brown, black, grey and yellow shades with its malicious green. His fate had been altered now. Time was ticking. Sand in the hourglass was following the most powerful force, the gravity. Some would argue that the most powerful force is love. Love is not gravity. Gravity only pulls you towards it. Love, equally capable of pulling you towards and pushing you away, like different poles of magnet. May be love is a magnetic field. Everyone has to find out who he or she is; North, South or a timber plank.

Or this stone wall.

A stranger passing by, looked at the wall, wondered

"Alas! the irony. The small green miracle of the nature won the battle against mighty army of rubbles! the wall never looked so alive." Little did he know !

The wall crumbled, and the plant feasted upon the wreckage for decades, only to witness and cause the fall of the wall. Death was slow, painful and inevitable.

Once, there lived a wall who gave way; a wall who triggered it's own damage; a wall worthy of so much more than just a breached lost cause. The wall who could not avoid the fall.

- Asthir (and sometimes timber plank)

(Note: The wall is addressed as ‘he’, mostly and aptly)