Reflecting through the dew

Sneha Verma | 26-Dec-2016

The world is nothing but a tunnel of time, travelling through the ages of humanity and through the ravages of individual psychology. It's a vacuum drawing within its coloured illusions the fancies of the sons of Adam. A maze of mirrors created to reflect the beauty of our Father emanating through the pristine face of the moon. The man was 'His' chosen angle, and through the molten eyes of God's favourite child flowed. Shimmering river of the Great Cosmic vision. The physical world is the flawless summation of the divine thought laced with the edges of time.

Reflecting through the dew

Image courtesy- tutoriaisphotoshop.net

The man was the guardian of this treasure but it was robbed, snatched by the beast within humanity and buried into oblivion by the hands of time. This was a time travel pulling man away from the blessed Eden and driving him into the molten fire of material Hell. The man lost the memory of his eternal existence espousing the ghostly apparition of this earthly inferno. Humanity grew out of God's love and comfortably settled within the quicksand of greed. A man transformed, no longer the living image of divinity but the decaying breath of hollow desire. 

The civilisation was destined to be a mirror but it was tainted. it became a captivity which engulfed within its unfathomable depths the spirit of humanity. Replacing it with a new image of a redundant existence, this pious race on the verge of peril introspects through the dew drops of its melting divinity. Seeing through the lost grandeur and awareness would dawn upon these dead minds, a realisation of their endless stupor, crossing the dark abyss of doubt and emotional sterility. The man has assumed to this day the form of a cold lump renouncing the balmy fire of compassion.

God's child is lost, terribly misplaced in the caves of his thoughts, unable to find an escape, this is the place he now chooses as his undisturbed harbour, dreams of where wisdom is laid to rest and dream of oblivion. The tree of humanity has withered and the leaves of life lie demised on the floor of the burning desert. While the structures crumble and consume the human purpose the entire cosmos passes by, rooted to the spot the misty apparitions of lost humanity helplessly watch the seasons change. The spring melts and the winter freeze the brook of individual fantasy.

Today the trapdoors of the material world lie ajar ready to consume the running feet of reasonless competition. The eyes which aim, confuse the goals and refuse to transcend the translucent barriers of the faces that are met at the turns of these arid roads. It is all there chronicled in the dim eyes of every man and yet it is invisible, what dew drops they may seem are really the lost tears of our guardian angels who shed them to cover the prickly path of ill-timed deeds. No initiative is evil at its root but the fruits determine the purpose. What may be beautiful to mortal eyes crowned by the silver glory of the lacy clouds are really the shady reflections of individual incapability.

It is the omnipotence of our Holy Father that through the jewels of nature, the will of the universe is bestowed upon the wrecked minds of the human race. This was never destined to be a cosmic secret but an eternal possession of this versatile man capacitated equally for good and for the evil. The world has shifted, it is no longer a misty image of perfection for mortal dreams, no place of distant romance but a fully evolved plane where even one single glance into the mirrors of our souls would enlighten us with what we already yet unconsciously sense in the reflection through the dew drops in the transient season, because scattered in the gardens of our individual dreams are the disoriented shingles of the universe’s vision, day after day waiting to appear upon the dewy flowers at every dawn of our humanity giving us another chance.

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About the Author
Sneha Verma
A Student of English Literature, I love to romance words and. blend my thoughts to the beauteous forms of creative expression. I take pleasure in the universal abstractness of human creativity and would not leave a single opportunity to spin the human circumstance within the fragile web of expressive words.