As the bluish haze started dimming into the pitch darkness of the moonless night in the shivering winter of the town, a baby was heard crying. The city of a hundred and fifty thousand houses with of concrete walls, slept. Gardens slept, flowers slept and the old gardener too. The gates of the ancient churches of the city were closed, and temples and mosques too.
The night passed, and the gates of the churches opened for morning-prayer, and that of the temples and mosques too. People came for morning walk in the garden, and flowers lifted their heads to smell the rising sun. The old gardener kept himself busy humming an old tune and sweeping the pavements. The concrete walls claimed their true colours and were no longer the same.
A five year old kid came walking to me and asked while I was sitting still and gazing the surface of the lake. “Did you hear someone cry last night oh passerby? I heard and heard till the morning sun and now its gone”, holding my hand he asked. I looked into his eyes and a tear rolled down my bearded cheek. I showed him a pen. He looked and it and said, “Where is the poem?” Since then we both have been here at the sides of this lake, watching.
The day passed and the sun kissed the horizon once again. The gates of churches started closing and that of the temples and mosques too. People went back to their houses and the as so did the old gardener. The kid stood up and said, “The sun has set now, I cannot see it beyond the horizons any more”. I stood up to see for myself and he was right, the sun wasn’t there.
The kid then walked into the lake and I just followed him. There we met an old man playing a long flute with three hands and writing a song with his forth hand. He stopped for a while and took out a small flute from his bag. He gave that flute to the kid and asked him to play. The kid blew and blew into the reed till he got frustrated and threw it away. The old man smiled and continued to play. The kid then asked the old man, about the baby crying the other night and the old man nodded while he played.
We walked a little longer and we were at a village of hens and pigeons. They were living in mud houses amidst beautiful flowers and green grasses. The kid rushed to a big white hen and told her about the old man we met. The hen convened a meeting in the village hall. All the birds and insects came, and the kid cried while he asked about the baby crying the last night.
An old pigeon shook its head and made us sit on its back. It then flew to the highest skies and made us see the world and the sun together. As we looked down we saw our town and the sleeping old gardener with his broom. We looked around and we heard no sound, there was no baby no cry no wind.
We then came down to take rest on a mountain peak. The snow beneath our feet was hard, it was cold and we were hungry. The pigeon flew in search of food and after an hour it came back with a piece of cloud. We took two bites and threw the rest.
.................and the baby cried.