WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
Under a thick cover of brown soil, a solitary Red Lucky Seed closed its eyes. Then it opened those eyes and closed them again. It was only darkness. Be it closed or opened; it was dark. Its nostrils, tired of inhaling the ancient scent of dehydrated soil, were numb. For the last time, in the severe pain of compression on its dry skin, it heard the call of conscience again. A faint cry, from its core, of life that was about to end, the weak call from within for a holy birth. The thirsty seed cried out loudly in that pain of abandonment. There was no one to here.
That cry was not strong enough to reach the ears of the great clouds in the vast sky that stood like a silver umbrella over the dark earthen veil that covered the humble seed.
Waiting for the inevitable end, and intensely dreaming of a brown-eyed raindrop, the Red Lucky Seed closed its eyes again. Not a drop of rain came in search of the lonely and worthless seed, so insignificant as one of the multi-billions of invisible particles in the infinitely vast universe.
Gradually the heat of the soil increased, and in that heat, the skin of the seed wrinkled and twisted. The seed still felt a tingle of life in its core. Slowly its memories faded.
Then, from that thick layer of darkness, a ray of silver light came into existence. The soil gets wet and colder. The seed felt lovely cuddling on its dry wounds. Unable to open its eyes, the seed wept and sank into another pain - the pain of creation. The pain of the touch of soft fingers pulling out the buds of life from its inner core.
From the vastness of the sky, a cute little raindrop was pouring out all its wetness over the seed and gently touching its dry skin. The raindrop reached out to those dying sprouts in the core of the weeping seed. The touch of life.
Entranced in the freshness of the raindrop, a sprout raised its head and looked at the new world. In the abundance of birth, the bud looked down at the mother seed. Drenching in the purity of the raindrop, the seed embraced the bud tightly, then closed its eyes in ecstasy, immersed itself in the tenderness of the raindrop, inhaled all the virtues of birth, and then dissolved into the soil. The bud rose up and kept its open eyes to the brightness of the sky, holding the raindrop in its palm. The perfection of birth.
Then a new era's anthem echoed, just for the raindrop, from the beating heart of the newborn bud she created. The loudest echo of love and closeness, the joy of creation of the immortal art of life. There opened a new world. A world of rejuvenated dreams.
(Translated From My Original Text in Malayalam)
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