Fences and Scars

(I do not take credit for the pictures used in this post or any of my other posts.)

I was supposed to write a 160-character piece for a TTT prompt. The prompt went like this: “At the stroke of midnight…….”. I wrote one, then more. A few just glided out, flowing through the whiteness. Strangely enough, they seemed to form a continuum to me. I know this is not my usual style, nor my best, but I felt like sharing this, unlike other things I write. I might add more later.

This was not supposed to question worth in any way, but turned out to be an emotional retreat, a sad one. But then, it was not just happiness that day, there were cries suppressed, stories unheard.

Having said that, the only place I would want to be is here. I don’t say this because I feel very patriotic on this particular day, as posts on various sites would tell you.

This is just a sense of belongingness. Of a welcome warmth. Of little things, the colours, the food, the beauty, the art, the culture, the home.

So, here it is. A little drop in the ocean.

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At the stroke of midnight

While the countries celebrated freedom

Two hearts had been shackled.

At the stroke of midnight

They thought it was freedom

It was blood and loss, whims and fortune.

At the stroke of midnight

Books say there was hope and cheer

A lonely train filled with corpses remained silent.

At the stroke of midnight

People thought everything had changed

It had

For the worse.

At the stroke of midnight

Two lives were born

One here

One there

Oblivious, unassuming.

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