Imaginary Tragic Tale of a Balcony When Eeshal & Abu Dawood Left Home
A balcony is the subject of this tale. The old house balcony is depressingly empty after the occupants moved into their new home. Although the writer’s message about the balcony is intended for people who move to new homes and enjoy life. This story itself is an imaginary thought of a writer.
The Balcony’s Own Tale
I was a gorgeous balcony. Many years ago, while Abu Dawood was building his house, he came with me to help build the chamber. My beauty was exceptional at the time.
I have lived through numerous epochs, battling the heat of the sun, the frostiness of winter, the monsoon rainstorms, and the unusually warm weather of June-July.
But..!! Above all, the separation in my life has left me with grief in my heart. My gorgeous color and complexion faded away with each passing day. Today, I only scream about the past eons.
I will always remember that time of day. I had seen a female hiking in my area; she was Abu Dawood’s new young bride.
Abu Dawood sometimes touches me with his hand when he is holding me, as in the sandalwood moments when he is standing on my porch and chatting to Eeshal on the phone while maintaining a lovely stance and grin. Silently, I heard everything they were saying, as if I were the third person between them.
But after Abu Dawood’s wedding, I was overjoyed to see Eeshal in the house. Her words had always made me happy, and I had grown to love her. Usually, she would come into my zone by grabbing a mug of hot steamed tea, at which point she would share everything with me verbally.
Over time, I felt alone on those days. Like before, I felt that Abu Dawood was no longer interested in me as the days and nights went by. At times, he would be unable to enter my area for several days at a time.
Still, I found the sight of one day unbelievable. When I saw Abu Dawood and his wife standing up on the road with various bags and dragging themselves toward their car on a solitary fall evening, I had to close my eyes in excruciating anguish. With intense longing, Abu Dawood created my design; nevertheless, they have since parted ways, seeking eternal happiness elsewhere.
Maybe the gorgeous balcony in the new homeroom next door was waiting for them. I, Abu Dawood, and Eeshal own this separation. It is likely to be referred to as human elaboration. But I progressively lost tolerance in my life, and these days I am slowly turning into dust.
Writer
Fozia Siraj
