CHAIR of MORPHISM

The last I saw him, as far as I can recall was when I took him to a walk on wheelchair. His eyes painted a little hazy visuals of the world before him, even I could imagine. I could sense it, considering that he saw sunlight after a long weary month. 

As he passed past his favourite armchair in the corridor, I witnessed his pupils dilate. Perhaps, he was reminiscing past just as I am reminiscing right now. As we reached the garden, the sunrays kissed his face and his face glowed with the brightness which wasnt his own. He passed a fake smile as dependency became destiny, longings became inevitable. 

I transfered him to a lawn chair while he looked at me all puzzled. He used to sit there reading newspapers and criticising the world. Now the news was hardly a matter of concern to him. Cognizant of his circumstances, he sat there listening to the chirping of the birds and rattling of the leaves. This was the very task that concluded his day, for what remained of the time was to be spent admiring nature which he forgot while living a mechanised life.

It is sad to notice that it is too difficult for him to move from a stationary chair to a dynamic one, being so independent one day and so dependent on the other day. Humans perhaps fail to recognise the frailty that comes with this body, for growing old is an inbuilt feature of mortality.

As I put this pen to paper, I think much wasn’t different. The stillness of the chair gets tranferred to the body while the motion of the body to that of the chair. Our life is much like that moving in between stability and mobility, struggling between coercion and intuition before it deduces to a parting. We all need support once we loose the strength to provide support.

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