I have just described Kashmir's seasons here....... blend of poetry and Article....
The
time of chilly winter is a past now. Gone are those lazy mornings, depressed
days and long nights. The time when the sun hardly bloomed its face from the
thick grey clouds; when there was silence everywhere, just flutter of pigeons.
That was a time when frost took the place of shining dew. It was the time when
the trees were naked with merely a bird on them. It was the time, when the
streets were silent as graveyards, with no child playing around. The time when
the roads were calm as everyone has left us alone. The time when everything
froze and nothing escaped the shivering of winters. When the time stopped
itself, waiting for a bright day, a new beginning.
It
all is going to change, completely. The days will begin with the chattering of
birds and go under the bright sun and will end with pleasant evenings. Trees
will bear new sails, so as two hide the little lives in nests of their
shoulders. The flights of pigeons will dance in the sky and parrots and hoopoes
and all migrants will come to entertain. The colors of happiness will portray
the dreams of imagination. Dew like diamond pearl will slide over the leaves to
hit an insect below. New faces, old glory will come back. Windows will once
again break from the balls at the streets. Little shoots will yarn to bloom new
flowers. Trees will again gain their little buds. No bird will be solitary, no
life will be lonely. Dandelions will again fly in the air, blown by the kids.
Daffodils will again ring their bells and roses will once again show their
love. Essence of happiness will take the streets as the perfumed flower
blossoms. Butterflies will again flutter in the air. Birds will again make
their ways through the vegetation in The Wullar and The Dal and will suddenly
disappear in the water.
And
then one day, trees will shed their leaves like hairs of humans. Everything
will be red then like the setting sun. After some time the sun will set and
would not come back until clouds light themselves.
This
is the way the world goes, one season will replace the other season and the new
season will bring new hopes, finally it will also end its self. But the only
thing we are left with memories of past and struggle for a better future.
It describes the place well and the thoughts you put in are great. But the real beauty of any story lies in the plot. And your story seems to be missing it. It rather sounds plain without one. And you did justice to kashmir describing it so wonderfully. Good job.
The poems of Spring are many. Even a dead soul can find some hope in the Spring flowers and the warm days. I like the description in your words of the birth of life. Winter is a season of rest. In the Spring. Old and young hearts need to come alive again. The re-birth of nature need to be appreciated. I like the ending to the excellent story.
Coyote
Somehow this comes off as simple, but not in a bad way, just in the fact that the idea trying to be put across is simplistic. I like how the topic is not one overused and i commend you for finding inspiration! The last paragraph is my favorite for sure. Keep it up!
It describes the place well and the thoughts you put in are great. But the real beauty of any story lies in the plot. And your story seems to be missing it. It rather sounds plain without one. And you did justice to kashmir describing it so wonderfully. Good job.