I lean at my broken window
Watching the dark winds sweep the dust off
the dark roads
I wait for him to appear..
The crazy stone picker
Who circles around the town
Picking the stones, and throwing them away
An old crazy loner
What does he pick the stones for,
If he has to throw them
back to the streets?
"That's where they belong"
he says, when asked.
"Ordinary stones belong to the street"
He has deep blue eyes
Prominent amidst dense hair and beard
Deeper than the blues of the evening sky..
Deeper than the blues of a broken heart
Sad, but hopeful
"I am looking for a magic stone", he says..
I laugh at him
This ain't a fairy tale
There's no such thing as magic
" Philosopher's stone!
the one that turns iron to gold
A decade ago, I sneaked this iron rod off my father's attic"
He points at the rod in his hand
"..and began the hunt for the special stone
I test the stones on the rod
One day, I will find the stone
That'd turn this rod to gold
I will cherish it for lifetime"
He grins ear to ear
And gets back to his hunt
Oblivious to the fact
that the rod in his hand
Is already gold..!
Aditee
