40. TOOLS
I had a fantasy to write prolifically; inundate every space of bonded paper with exquisite literature,
The only tools I had were my knotted fingers; a labyrinth of impeccable tunnels in my brain; to pen down the lines; transform my dream into tangible reality.
I had a fantasy to clamber Mount Everest; reach its Herculean summit suspended
in thin wisps of clouds,
The only tools I had were my strong legs; an overwhelming tenacity in my mind to set my foot on the coveted peak.
I had a fantasy to swim amidst the swirling waves; relish the pungent spray of the ocean splashing across my cheek,
The only tools I had were my muscular arms; the exhilaration in my body propelling me to surge forward.
I had a fantasy to scratch scintillating crusts of gold; from the mammoth chain of underground rocks,
The only tools I had were my incongruously extruding nails; the pertinence in my persona to keep peeling; till I found that incorrigible glow.
I had a fantasy to drink frosty milk; sip the unadulterated elixir with great relish painstakingly down my throat,
The only tools I had were my articulate fingers to extract the same from mother cow; alongwith a canister to fill the same as it oozed out.
I had a fantasy to smell the stupendously exotic; drown in its fragrance for times immemorial,
The only tools I had were the incredibly red and redolent rose; a pair of supremely sensitive nostrils; drawn inevitably towards the flower.
I had a fantasy to ride on the majestic lion; caress my hands nimbly through the beasts nape,
The only tools I had were a stick impregnated with tanned leather; loads of unprecedented and daunting courage enveloping my demeanor.
I had a fantasy to plummet head on from the aircraft; fly uninhibitedly in the
galaxy of resplendent stars; before reaching the earth,
The only tools I had were conventional strings of the parachute strapped to my
back; astronomical amounts of resilience in my countenance; to descend like an
angel from the heavens.
I had a fantasy to voraciously read through a library of books; profusely blend with the history of medieval times,
The only tools I had were my insatiable ability to imbibe; crystalline and emphatic eyes bestowed upon me by the Creator.
I had a fantasy to listen to enchanting music; drift myself wholesomely towards the most mesmerizing and melodious tunes,
The only tools I had were insurmountable patience to wait for the nightingale to open its beak; hollow spaces of my eardrum to assist me grasp the rhapsody
in the sound.
And I had fantasy to philander in the aisles of ravishing romance; burn passionately in the flames of immortal love and desire,
The only tools I had were my mightily pounding heart; and my impeccable yet
enchanting beloved.