The Fallen Brick...

The brick fell out of the wall and there was a hole left gaping in its place. A passer by tossed the brick to a side and it rested there for weeks and months. The brick watched a mason fill the gap in the wall with some concrete and a couple of stones and patch the hole up.  Everyone forgot about the brick that had been there. The house didn't bat another eyelid to one of its own either.

The brick could have had a different story too. It could have been put back in its place had someone spotted it in time. It could have been picked up and been put to use some place else. It could have found its way into the foundation of something magnificent or could have been crushed to dust and been a part of the street itself. But, none of that happened. It was just thrown to a side where it continued to live without a purpose, for as long as I saw.

Over time, I have come across many such bricks strewn all over the landscape of my memory. People, relationships, jobs and careers and even bits and pieces of my own personality – chipped away from the wall and left alone to succumb and decay. Every fallen brick alters the wall and even when repaired, the originality and the character of the wall can never be restored to its former glory.

There is no pause in the process of human abasement and all human existence is marred by incessant and ceaseless grating at the hands of time. This erosion never stops. The metamorphosis of an embryo into a spiteful, detested shadow of what a human being should ideally be is so silent that at times one fails to recognize one’s own reflection in the mirror.

What I stood for once, is not how today presents me. Tomorrow, I will evolve into something else – possibly something more sinister, perhaps someone more benevolent. Someday, someone will realize that it is no longer viable to keep repairing the wall and will then tear it down. The fortress of strength that once stood tall and braved the wind and the weather and protected those who stood under it, will dilapidate into debris and be returned to the dust it rose from.

When seen from a distance, it is hard to believe that the wall could have had a soul too. It is only when one gets closer and runs a few fingers on the cracks that the rough texture sighs and moans and narrates its story – the  story of human evolution and erosion; the story of the fallen brick and the wall it fell from.