Moonbow

‘Come, child; perch beside us, bask in our campfire’s flames; converse with our Lord whose wisdoms rove where seas and skies came,’
The old man laid idle, cloaked in black, silver hair curled akin his beard, as his sad black eyes bounced constellational stars like a coded message. The air was dense, though a soft melodic breeze embellished an otherwise quiet night of solitude. But across a myriad of muddled whispers, the boy stood still, frozen. The man who had beckoned him bore an uncanny resemblance, a familiar facade, like some forgotten memory faded across time’s unforgiving flow. Still, onwards he marched and perched beside his requester, keen to know more. The old man examined him some seconds, then resumed his surveillance above. ‘Tonight, our stars align with a premonition, a bastard of hope,’ he uttered under his bewildered beard. ‘Yet I cannot heed their calls.’
 

Beside hoots and howls wavered across intervals, lingering like a duduk’s sad breath midair, a certain quietude carried the child ever deeper down an endless chasm of dead dreams. Lost in celestial deciphers, the elder remained hushed, while his wrinkled hands swirled in arcane shapes—demanding, commanding, like a general mid battle. But when motionless, the child’s sobs summoned their own melodic prelude. The elder arose and, with wisdom nestled deep in his eyes, hoisted one hand, drew a deep breath and upon its release, he spun the moon. The world reversed before them. Time unravelled in rewind, sun and moon reversed in course—since both dawned in west and dusked in east. Birds of all feathers flocked together flew in increased speed, backwards, as crimson clouds vapoured into clear skies. Trees clad in leaves became barren, naked, and dead, only to blossom new ones as came spring, once more pouring in life until another winter soon claimed all. The boy saw his village reassembled as proud as old tales told of those idyllic days: bustling in merchants and vendors whose odds and ends once spanned across all lands: from Hindu Kush to those Asiatic Steppes. Musicians whose lute strings plucked in unison with such enduring emotions that only the magi could see, masquerading the inexplicable as music. Still, the boy was a silenced witness, an observer of an era he had once heard, but never seen. With one blink, two tears dropped down his cheeks and all the world blurred like laughter’s echoes across his distant village. Quickly he rose, heart pounding, soul melting. He cast one last glance upon the heedless old man—watching, knowing, yet saying nothing—as he ran downhill.
 

The closer he reached, the taller those pillars seemed, towering over him like a spectacle beneath. Whispers buried in loud laughs, loud laughs buried in cries, and cries buried in conversations too soon cut in half. Yet, once he had reached inside those hallowed walls where memories served, a murmur made him pause. He looked behind where the old man breathed his soul into his flute. But, as he looked onward once more, like a dream upon dawn’s bitter intrusion, all crumbled before him. The final echoes of the elder’s flute faded with wailing winds, and tears welled in his eyes. He turned back, but the old man was gone—only a shadow now remained, flickering like an elusive memory. Then, upon a moment’s contemplation, he realised: he was no dreamer, he was a dream, a wish of a world unseen summoned by his dreamer. His village, his people, his home, all figments of a long forgotten past unravelled in time’s opposing stream. His palms opened as he witnessed his fingers waver and dissolve into those eastward winds.
 

The old man sighed, placed his flute back in cloak as his eyes scoured each flame come and gone. ‘Go now, child,’ he whispered. ‘Rest in memories’ narrow lane where I shall join you once more.’ The child smiled, uncertain whether tears could serve a similar purpose. The campfire dimmed as celestial skies continued in silent watch. The old man, once more alone, searched the heavens with more resolve—not for answers, but for the fleeting company of another self he had once known.