The journey

I don't know if this is the beginning of creative writing........

We knew it was a small township on the other side of the huge wall. But, as kids we were denied entry there, and our world ended at the edge of the playground next to the wall. There were small eateries where the kids of the soldiers came with their parents to enjoy the evening. The toy shops there had curious toys that we the slum dwellers could not even imagine of. The parks were all green with flowering trees green, red and yellow. But that township was in a world where we had no permission to enter, which we accessed in our imagination. There we saw we playing with our peers in uniform; we tasted the sweets we could not even imagine on in our slum life. With the ears pressed on to the wall we heard the music from the world beyond walls.

One afternoon, some of us finally gained the courage to climb the wall and enter the world that we saw only in our imagination. Climbing on the shoulders of the elder boys one by one three of us entered the world we saw only in the dreams.

But to our shock, it was only a thicket where there was no humanity around. Combing the undergrowths and creepers we moved further, following the trails of a wail.

And finally we saw one old woman knelt before a tomb…. Wailing, wailing and wailing. What we could see was the endless array of tombs covered in white flowers… and beyond that the mighty ocean of darkness. Staring at each other we stood there not knowing the way back from the world we saw in our dreams. In that stillness we felt our roots going deep into that outlandish landscape from where the memories of the centuries crept into our veins, and slowly we merged into the blissful forgetfulness…