Crazy Ramblings #9

When I step out of the house, my first instinct is to look up at the sky, to search for the clouds or feel the rain on my face. Today when I stepped out around four I looked up even before the porch ceiling was out of the way and when I noticed the sky, I sighed. It was beautiful; dotted with random white fluffy clouds overlapped by grey ones that made them look like they had blurry edges that transfused into the sky. It was beautiful, there's no other words for it. I am entranced by clouds, I guess it's pretty obvious considering I write a lot about them. Sigh. The blurry edges presented a different story to me, altogether. Like the stage beyond exhaustion, when tiring becomes funny; when the line between reality and imagination blur, when they merge. Those moments when you can believe what you see, even though whatever you see is probably half your imagination. The moments when everything makes sense, yet the next moment it's all senseless. That absurd, silly state. The wonderful reality of the moment.

-Momina

seclusion

The warm air around me halts. I feel the ice-cold wind creeping up about me silencing the friendly heat. The walls around seem to close in and there in not enough air to breath in, my lungs seems to constrict due to the lack of air. The light glows dimmer and dimmer till it's all dark. The loneliness and fear fall on me like shards of glass piercing my flesh. I try to breath; I hold a hand out clutching nobody in the intense stillness.  No room, no air; I cry without tears, I scream without sound, I hold on to something not there.  I have been caged in isolation as I wither in pain lost with time

M.

unresolved mystery

There are so many stars that it seems imaginary. So many clouds;so many funny shapes that it looks fake. The moon is a perfect circle of gold, forged? After all those years of learning the cycle of the sun, the moon and earth I still wonder where exactly the sun hides and yet still provides us enough light to see in the night. It's never too dark for you to not see a thing (unless you get a lunar eclipse that is) a sigh escapes from the depths of my thoughts. And how is that one night you can see all the stars that are possibly there and the next you can barely see a few of them. I bet they are little illusionary things. I shake of the desperation and look at the long shadows that the murky night throws around me. Ridiculous they are giving people a reason to believe in creepy ghosts. And why is that the rustle of the leaves is always sinister in the dark? Everything seems phony to me in the dark, artificial. The voices go hushed, the lights dim, the wind seems to make your neck-hair rise in a disturbing dreadful way; why? The unresolved case of the mysterious alien nights…

Momina.


picture:  the starry night by Gogh, Vincent Van.