We’ve had one every year for the past nine years. Well I’ve only been aware of them for the past nine years anyway.
The first time I saw one I was certain something was about to happen. I did not know if it was a harbinger of good or bad occurrences, but I did know I was fascinated with it.
I was inspired to write the first few pages of a three part series. It was one of my favorites, it still is. It was the first of many books that made me dig deep into a place I was certain I could hide behind smile after smile. So deep, I wouldn’t even remember what the truth was anymore.
It’s not really as dark as I make it seem, but the stench of pain still lingers.
I noticed the red sunsets one cold midsummer’s day in India, when all of my preconceived notions of family and tradition lie shattered around my feet. Childhood fantasies torn asunder.
Yet, I find them so beautiful, those stunning red sunsets, messengers of long buried memories. You see I was right, you can bury the truth so deep that even you don’t recognize it anymore.
The first time I saw one I was certain something was about to happen. I did not know if it was a harbinger of good or bad occurrences, but I did know I was fascinated with it.
I was inspired to write the first few pages of a three part series. It was one of my favorites, it still is. It was the first of many books that made me dig deep into a place I was certain I could hide behind smile after smile. So deep, I wouldn’t even remember what the truth was anymore.
It’s not really as dark as I make it seem, but the stench of pain still lingers.
I noticed the red sunsets one cold midsummer’s day in India, when all of my preconceived notions of family and tradition lie shattered around my feet. Childhood fantasies torn asunder.
Yet, I find them so beautiful, those stunning red sunsets, messengers of long buried memories. You see I was right, you can bury the truth so deep that even you don’t recognize it anymore.
The Play
What are you hiding from,
I wonder.
What are you running from,
I wonder.
Are they the hallowed vows
Of yester-year?
Or the wistful boughs
Of dreams lost in fear?
Could you pause for a moment?
Could you linger for a minute?
I would hold your hand,
If only for a second.
What do you hear
I wonder.
What do you fear
I wonder.
Are they the words
Of the one you’ve forsaken?
Or the wrath
Of the one you left, broken
Could you hold still?
I want to memorize your face.
I want you to take part in this farce.
I want you to play my part.
I wonder.
What are you running from,
I wonder.
Are they the hallowed vows
Of yester-year?
Or the wistful boughs
Of dreams lost in fear?
Could you pause for a moment?
Could you linger for a minute?
I would hold your hand,
If only for a second.
What do you hear
I wonder.
What do you fear
I wonder.
Are they the words
Of the one you’ve forsaken?
Or the wrath
Of the one you left, broken
Could you hold still?
I want to memorize your face.
I want you to take part in this farce.
I want you to play my part.
-Aman J. Sandhu
Escapades of a Bored Writer 
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