The Silver Locks
Dated: 25th of January 2023
Tired face, bulged eyes, paining limbs and a longing heart
All clutched onto Sierra’s feeble body that could no longer bear the brunt
Every look into the mirror mocked her for unfulfilled dreams
Every silver lock that descended from the head onto the brush elicited how old she was
Every moment of silent weeping scoffed her for the risks she refused to take
For the valour she refused to demonstrate in the fear of reputes and retakes
This was another visit to the mirror and of brushing her silken locks
Unlike the usual silver hair that resided on the brush, a black hair gently touched the surface
Her eyes gleamed, tears rolled down, her spirits soared
It was a shiny black hair this moment
Before she could revel in it, the black hair shone
The hair swayed in feather like waves, glowed like a diamond embedded crown
Sierra again looked into the mirror, her smile became wide
It was a young face, radiant eyes, strong limbs and a hopeful heart
This was no longer her isolated, wooden house
It was a chirpy little household, filled with bliss
She stepped towards the little cake that the little table held
She saw people, they smiled, embraced her, and applauded
They sang, the music told her that it was her eighteenth birthday
She was young again, a soft voice whispered to her, “It’s time to live again. To fulfil your dreams. To reside in the beautiful days.”
She unlocked her pink diary housed within the drawer
It spoke of her own dreams to her
It spoke of ebbs and flows, of desires and of teenage feelings, of perfections and of dreams
She turned the pages, the diary still had some space for her to fill in with her writings
Her achievements in college were the same as before
But her heart was filled with joy and the endurance to endure more
She stepped up higher and higher, the campuses welcomed her
She found success, she found friendships and she found love
She no longer felt tired of writing the best of novels
She spoke of poetry and of stories, of experiences and adventures
She read the best of poems and admired the greatest of literatures
She was no longer confined in the chains of unspoken words and concealed emotion
She no longer made a choice between people and her passion
She aged but her limbs didn’t have pain
Her face was no longer tired, her eyes had an eternal gleam, but the brush again housed her first silver hair
It shone again, swirled towards the mirror and she again looked at her face
She had more silver locks now, she still wasn’t tired, she was aged but her limbs did not house pain
She smiled for her house was no longer a quiet and isolated wooden hut
It was an abode of literature, diaries, letters, photographs and moments of light
Her longing heart now did not long for unfulfilled dreams, it longed for the ventures in life
Her spirit was again ready to strive
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