I am standing on the mountain and it is very dark all around. The moon is about to be invisible. The sky has lost its beauty. The dimness has enclosed the city. Sorrows, these days, are no more a thing anew. Seclusion is the only option which the people of the city opt. I am having a page and a pen in my hands. The weather is elegant. It must have rained here.
It is all gloomily beautiful here and I feel likely to be lost within the beauty of this darkness tonight.
I am looking at the stars, the blackness of the clouds and empathising those dimmest fallen leaves. A chunk of cotton clouds bulging and wrapping the sky slowly and gradually trotting towards the lone moon and I am witnessing this beautiful war lively from down here. I must be very stun because, the darkness has covered all sides. On a sudden turn towards the sky, I heard someone calling my name.
I looked here and there. There was no one. Except me, the page, the pen, the mountain and the lively sky.
The memories have surrounded me. I wonder what was happening and I was enthralled into some anticipated whim. Some voice I heard. The voice that was so strong that it diverted me breaking my devotion from the moon within.
It was Hasnain’s that I heard after four constant years. He was someone who had a very deep love with nature.
The moon was his companion. The mountains were his home. The stars were his secret-keepers. The rain was his other devoted soulmate. It is the midnight at the moment and I am engrossed enormously unto those bygone memories.
By then, I heard these words into my ears: “Death is real”. Reminiscing.
Lies have no future, truth must be exposed. Love for motherland has fastened with my breath. Once he said, “Bury me here if I die. This soil owns me. So I owe myself to it.” Since then, he communicated with silence and so seclusion was the only thing I am in love with. I am still on the mountain. I looked up. I found the moon winning, bright and complete, fall-streaking the clouds surrounded, slowly fading away. I was drenched with tears. I don’t remember what had happened. I just remember that, to date, I miss his lone presence. After his martyrdom, I have only his companion to communicate with: the moon, the stars, the mountains and the rain.
