White balls – Three of them.
Polished to shine.
Painting mischief in the air
Just by bouncing around.
Her eyes pant.
Following the balls tires them.
Two eyes, three balls..
Too much to keep up with.
Yet they try.
The balls fly higher.
Her eyes try to catch up.
But hey.. what’s that?
There. . Gleaming more than the balls?
Two tiny balls of fire.
Spotted.. but bright
With sparks flying off them
(Sputter splutter sputter)
More than the Diwali sparklers of childhood.
Exuding the glow & warmth of glee
Of one specific kind.
Glee that comes from love..
Glee that comes from pride..
Glee that comes from forgetting the surroundings..
Glee that comes from losing oneself in the moment..
Glee that only the passionate know..
Glee that only the passionate experience..
Glee that only the passionate recognize..
Glee that only the passionate replicate – instantly.
His eyes smiled – without realizing that they did
The juggler’s eyes.
Her eyes copied his – without realizing that they did
The passionate juggler’s eyes.
She no longer saw the three balls – the dull ones
Her eyes danced – a ballroom dance of course 😉
In perfect co-ordination with his – an exhilarating duet.
The surreal dance stopped..
The balls had stopped moving – the dull ones.
His lips now copied his eyes – they curved into a smile.
Hers followed suit.
Ah, the elation of cheer-filled satisfaction.
On screen, there was black
The image of the juggler having faded.
In her mind, there were re-runs.
Of images of other balls of magic.
Of the smiles of other passionate eyes.
The Dalai Lama‘s..
No other pair smiles better.
No other pair makes others smile better.
Her Prof’s – when he discusses research ideas..
No other pair inspires her to think & work better.
Balls of magic – they all are.
Perhaps, they have magic dust – clinging loosely to them.
Perhaps, the magic is contagious.
Perhaps, her eyes too glow like that.
At least a wee bit?
All those times when she talks to equations on the whiteboard?
When everybody in lab confirms her lunacy?
‘cos they see only her back?
How she wishes she could see her eyes then.
(sigh) Never mind..
She keeps looking into people’s eyes.
A gaze so straight & piercing – undaunted, unapologetic, unwavering..
Conducting an urgent search – the whole depth..
For sparks of magic in their eyes.
Oh, so un-ladylike.
But she can not help seeking the magic.
She is greedy – for honest passion.
She is ever thirsty – for inspiration.
She is hungry – for the taste of that rare form of glee.
She needs more of that magic dust.
That which only rubs off those balls of magic.
Crazy passion & the crazier passionate..
And their flaming balls of magic..
Oh, how they consume her!