Stories

BY SAEE ATHAWALE

Stories are little paintings pinned on the walls of our mind,
When the paint drips, you can feel it trickling down your spine.
Whether it is a tiny peephole into a whole other universe,
Or a narrator who implicitly hacks into the protagonist's thoughts-
A theft that only fiction can pull off,
Fiction is imagination- a world superimposed in the writer's mind,
Juxtaposing the still words on paper, with moving images behind the eyes,
These vivid images alter our concept of time.
Stories remain the only place where we can time travel,
Where time can halt, sprint, transform, or run parallel.
What an alluring concept for one who bears the curse-
Of linear time, relative powerlessness,
Of withstanding all seasons, acting out of good reason.
So we open a door beyond which everything and nothing exists simultaneously,
Anything becomes possible,
And our present - irrelevant.


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