Fire
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The forest fire had raged for several years destroying and consuming everyting in sight. It was now in its death throes. All that was visible for miles around were the black coals and the grey ash… the only memories of those that were…
Here and there flickers of flames were dying by the dozen and soon there was neither sound nor light to mark the heat that was.
That was when the little breeze passed that way. Curious.. playful..
And while it passed it dropped dry leaves and bits of paper as if to play with ash and to delight in the transient patterns that were created…
All was well for a while. Till the little breeze chanced upon some golden red embers – with the breeze around they grew brighter and brighter. The breeze was fascinated and excited, not knowing what would happen next and not quite able to stop itself. The embers suddenly burst into flame. The breeze started to move…
“Feed me,” the fire demanded ” for you have brought me to life… Feed me,” it said “for you have brought me back from the dead.”
The breeze said helplessly, “I can carry but leaves and bits of paper. Your appetite is mountainous and my powers are humble. I cannot feed you…”
The fire crackled, “Then stay and keep me alive till I can get some food.. Do not leave me now or I’ll surely die.”
“Oh darling fire,” said the gentle breeze, the essence of my exisitence is movement. If I am still, I am no longer there and how would that serve you?”
The fire then cried in pain, “Oh wind, you are cold, you make me burn, if you can not stay then take me with you,” and it sent up a beautiful shower of sparks into the wind…
The breeze carried the sparks away perhaps to start a fire elsewhere… and this fire slowly dimmed again.
The dying fire, now cooler, fell to thinking — as long as there is warmth in me, any breeze can kindle me into flame. Die I must anyway, some day or the other. Breezes will come, and they will go the way they came. I can neither refuse to burn nor insist that they stay. Nor do I wish to be put out by the rain. I myself can not move, so I must wait… and accept the intermittent pleasure and the ensuing pain.
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Bujhthi bujhthi aag ko phir jala gaya koyi.. jhoom uthi chali hawa…
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