​There,  under the tree,  is the stone that got its eyes from me. 

It lets you do what you want but its eyes record it all. Think I need to buy it a mouth. 

Its eyes, if ever closed apart from the time when it sleeps, were closed when I saw it crying. It was crying because it fell on its eyes. Wonder what it will say upon getting  mouth.

Now that the stone got its mouth,  it wouldn’t say a word without letting out a crazy laughter. It distracts the students by staring at their hands. It laughs on,  whether children cry or big men fall. 

Its laughter sounds victorious, jumps and falls quick. 

Like the laughter of the king who won a battle after losing many his men. 


It sleeps with its mouth open and passersby throw gibberish in. The stone is heavy, nobody can toss it. It’s not as huge to become a seat. 

The stone is learning to sing. Children are hearing it,  men are scared of it. 

The stone sings even in the dark,  scaring men and women. They call it ghostly stone. They think crushing it would be horrendous. 

So they let it live on, alone under the abandoned tree. 


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