The Wall

The wall is my foster child- someone else’s flesh and blood, someone else’s sweat that wets my pillow. I touch it with my hands; I try to soothe the fire. The sun steals our reflection- turns it pale and makes me old. The wall was my armour; it melted into rubble to save me from the wrecking ball. The wall holds me in its uterus, pushes me out when I am not asleep. The wall inhales the hot air and fills ice in my nostrils. The wall is my light in the tower- The wall is my sinking ship.

Like what you read? Give Anand Kumar a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.