The Socrates’ Day

The door was knocked. It kept on bumping. The ice melted thousands of times. Volcanoes erupted along with. The trees grew, some rose and some destroyed by storms. Calendars turned to chronicles. Monarchs were founded and plundered. Characters always dimmed but the truths never. The ideas were not the thing which can be hid or forced to do so. So the emblems of reality lingered as before. The man heard the strokes at door. He was not alone to perceive. The truths are self-evident. So it was not the man, it was mankind who witnessed.  But there was no one to quote why it happened time and again. For this question was not mere as it seemed. It certainly had to do something with their minds as well; and no one was ready to accept the remedy.

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The shadow was sentenced to death. Execution would occur tomorrow or the day after. Not a joke. Most probably, the ship⁽¹⁾   would arrive the next day . The light in the shade would be heavy enough to be buried along with. There would be thunders and gales on the land of gods. An earthquake might hit them by its discrepancy. So the think tanks suggested filling the whole light in a crock and throw somewhere away. Seems a pun? Remember my dear, when wit is auctioned in markets, such pranks take birth. These are inevitable. Not a long after this, neither such wisdom nor these auctioneers survive. Just the tall tales exist for cautioning.

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Glom after gloom. Like an onion, every sheath had the same thing. Darkness. A journey to nowhere. No signs of end post. Unaware of even what was the starting line. Darkness is actually the absence of light. But the travellers of night had just witnessed the dusk. What is light was an unseen problem. So they continued roving in utter blackout. Kept on moving about circles for centuries.

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The knocks at the door will never stop. The rays of light will make their way through. The door will be flapped countless times until it gets shattered. To avoid disturbance, the sleepwalkers will try to fix its latches. They cannot, but they will act eccentrically. Their bizarre activities of burial of light will not be ended to keep the meanders on lusterless roads. But the door will be crackled and unleash the reality. The immortal ideas will rule one day. That will be the Socrates’ day.

1-In Socrates’ time, the person sentenced to death was given the bowl of poison on the arrival of a ship. There was some myth attached to it.