(Un) Fragile glass Stories

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No. I don’t drink alcohol.
But whenever I’m at a party, I invariably look around for colorful cases and bottles that its variants are packaged in.

Result:  Recycled Vodka bottles reborn as elegant vases on my dining table.
Vases that now tell stories….

Fragile stories
In blue …of water, fishes, glass rooms, rainy summers

In green….of potted plants, new leaves, a shirt

In brown…of coffee. Black.Without sugar. Forbidden
In white…of blessed, untouched innocence

In pink…of a caressing delicate tenderness

In red…of unquenchable want

In black…of suffocating depths

In sunny orange.…of the immeasurable joy of friendship emerging out of the ashes.

In mellow yellow...of soul stirring revelations and transformations!

And then…

In THAT blue and green which now speaks of the never-ending, unshakable trust…
Of soul engulfing joy of belonging without owning…

Of the embalming peace of being and letting be….

Finally now, the glass stories were no longer fragile.
But “of glass” they pledged to let them remain…True and unpretentious.
And in blues and greens too…Soothing, Lulling, New.
Blessed.

(Don’t they say , “Touch wood” here??)

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