The Last Teardrop
The dying rays of the sun zoomed into and out of focus as he stood there watching them paint the sky into an astral battlefield. But he was unseeing. Returning birds called to their near and dear. But he was unhearing. The wind carried to him smells of the sea. But he was unsmelling. The fire was lit atop the lighthouse. The waves continued lapping gently at the shore. Suggestive of the turmoil underneath.
....
The bridge swayed slightly with the wind. The sky was getting darker. "You oughta go home, shir". It was the gate keeper at the bridge, wrapped in a large shawl and wheeling his cycle home. "You've been standing too long in the wind. The wind from the sea at this time of the night does not bring good with it." He turned his head, and smiled. Then he turned back to his object of attention, the bleak sky. The keeper walked off, shaking his head. 'Bhalayee ka zamana hi nahi hai...'
....
The slow sweeps of the lighthouse beam were the only source of light. He had been standing there all day. His attention fixed on the far horizon. At least, seemingly.. for if you had looked closer, you would have noticed glazed eyes and a rigid stare. Suggestive of the turmoil within...
That lovely face... those undescribable eyes...
a tear rolled down his face and fell ... a drop into the ocean.
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