Walls of Choice...

Bubble: Part II

From inside of a bubble, my bubble, life looks colourful. On the circle that surrounds me, I see myriad shades of coloured waves forming & then bursting into coutless more hues n patterns. The world outside looks beautiful. I stand with my nose flattened against the transparent walls of the bubble...life outside is radiant & shining...it lives unlike the inert unchanging air of here inside. I sigh and turn back to explore more of the bubble I am in, secure & safe, untouched, uncoloured, unchanging & I loathe it.

The one on the outside does not want the bubble to break...he keeps it from alighting as long as possible by giving it tiny boosts of air from below...& I float, like a tourist in an Indian jungle safari, caged as I see the vibrancy of life outside...

I am the child, the one outside my parent. 

The colours of the world outside are paints & not hues. There is a slight difference, which I dont understand as of now. They wither with acquaintance. 

The dynamism is uncertainity & confusion, unroutine & unfathomed.

Someday I will see the difference...and long for the inert unchanging unmoving air of my alight bubble & hover over the world guarded by the flimsy sheath of my hearth. My nose hard pressed against the wall...seeing beyond the colours that I see today...& knowing, that all the shades that I saw as a child were but on the walls of my own home...