Unobstructed

http://www.facebook.com/Urbah.V.Photography

She stands still in the center of the park, staring somewhere in the distance, unaware of the way people eye her. Half wet hair, blowing in the breeze, the length of her scarf flapping around her neck. Yet, her gaze is intent, unhindered; settled on the single fluffy cloud that adorns the sky, so lost in its beauty that she cannot see the setting that hold my equally committed contemplation. My view is completely different but similarly beautiful. Our unwavering gazes settled upon the sole scenery that connects us. The only difference is that I am the sun, peeking from behind those very clouds.

-Momina.

Locked Up In Fog

‘Always aim for the moon, so even if you fall, you can land on the stars.’

She played with the word of the quote in her mind while tears streamed down from the corners of her eyes and disappeared somewhere in her hair. As she stared at the bunk above her, even the stars seemed too far; past the two bunks above her, the roof, the second story and the limitless distance towards the sky. An impossible journey.

She looked at the hardwood of the bed above, staring back at her and wondered where her life was going. She was nowhere. Life had always been so perfect for her, the choices were never her own, just an illusion at that, but she enjoyed them nonetheless. She had honestly nothing planned for her future, and it wandered off in the forbidden lands of nowhere. But finally a decision was reached and she struggled with all her might to take it from there; she had an aim, a door to reach.

But karma, karma was a pain in the behind, the door of opportunity was nothing more than an illusion, a mirage in the dry dessert that she had taken to be an oasis, a disappointment that sent her crashing down, with all her spirits drowning in self pity and accusation. Before her lied nothing but a barren land, she had journeyed from nowhere to nowhere. At first she had had a goal to chase, that would have been her way out, but now there was no goal, no target. The planes of disappointment spread out vast in every direction she looked. They were limitless and she had no clue where to go and nobody to guide her.

Tears came stronger than ever as she realized the reality of her situation again. She considered calling her best-friend and spilling out all her worry to her but she had probably done all she could; she had helped her up after she had crashed down under the weight of disappointments and dusted her down, raising her drowned spirits. She had felt a lot better then, but now, weighing her options she had to admit that she was stuck, her mind clogged.

She heaved muted sobs in the dark room as the night grew longer. Eventually she fell in a chain of weird dreams that woke her up every half hour or so, every time greeted by the everlasting darkness. At sunrise she sat up in her bed with a throbbing head and stinging eyes that were red and strained as she contemplated on her series of dreams, they had felt so meaningful but now they just seemed like pointless gibberish. She sighed, but couldn’t bring herself to sleep again.

The days became unnumbered as she went through her daily routine. She felt bored out of her wits yet there was so much to do that the day passed away in a blur. The nights were the same; an endless series of little sleep and deep dreams that lost meaning as soon as she pondered over them. Her thought had attached themselves to her mind like a leech, they sucked all energy out of her, her state was all she could think of and it always left her with a numbing headache that sent shivers down her spine and flooded her in cold sweat. She was stuck in the dry planes of nowhere looking for answers while her life had become a struggle, a question of her existence, an effort to live everyday one after the other in a single hope that somewhere she’ll find a response, a sign, a guide. 

Eye to Eye

The air was humid and I could barely see in the smoke that occupied the room. I clenched my eyes shut and kicked down the door to the next room; my partner and I barged in, looking around for signs of life. I moved a cupboard and that’s when I saw her, covered in soot and clutching something close to her chest. She trembled all over and looked at me anxiously with her deep dark eyes and as I looked into them everything muted, I could sense the commotion behind me, my mates shoving me away and taking the bundle from her. She looked down that instance and fear struck her eyes; fear that wasn’t there before, she shook her head vigorously, muttering something.

I went close to her in order to hear her, ‘my baby, my baby’, she whispered as my friend tucked the blue baby under his arms and ran outside.

I looked at her shivering there in the hot room, with fire all around us, urgently draped a safety blanket around her and told her the baby was going to be fine. Maybe it was the confidence in my voice that I was trained to keep, or she really did believe me because her eyes sparkled for a moment and a faint smile touched her lips, ‘thank you’ she said. And then her eyes lolled back into her head.

I returned her out and we resumed extinguishing the fire, usually I was too occupied to think of anything, but today, I couldn’t let go the expression in her eyes. It was not fear, she had been sitting in the stuffy cupboard in a burning house for God knows how long, and yet there was no fear in her eyes. No fear for herself passing over to the other side. But it was something I knew too well; she had seen death, felt it, almost been swallowed up by it. And yet, escaped it. I knew it, been there and I had never met anyone who had seen death up close like myself. Never found someone I could relate to, talk to. My life was purposeless and I’d taken this job where one was faced with death risks every now or then.

I looked for her after work and got around to the hospital where she had ended up. On inquiring I was directed to a doctor who told me she was no more, the baby had survived, she was too weak though. Too close to death itself.

-Momina.

Spent In Time Traps

I am stagnant. Stuck, trapped, in time. Where, exactly? I know naught. And I am confused; undecided about whether to move or not. The effort to move requires energy and that seems to be lost. No matter how hard I try I cannot summon it. Besides, I don’t think I want to move. I am a captive of my sanity, or is it my insanity? Spellbound in my own conscience, unwilling to escape even when I can. It’s an easy way out, but it seems too much, a journey I am reluctant to make.

I can’t read or think or write. It’s seems like ages when I last wrote, or attended to business that needs to be done. It all seems pointless. I just want to sit back and watch everyday go by, no issues of time or jobs due. No nothing. Every day, though, there’s a moment when I think, when I know that I can do anything, be anything, and conquer all. But in a blink that reserve of energy is gone and I am left in an abyss of futile thoughts. Just like that. I let it go too soon maybe. My actions seem so slow. Like the feeling when you take sleeping pills and everything goes so hazy that you need minutes to think something so simple. That trance? It feel like that. Yes.

Oh well, there’s always tomorrow right? Today we can sit back and relax and just worry later…tomorrow. And act too, of course. It’s seems like a petty argument between now or never, where I am lost. Being tossed around, not struggling but misplaced. Waiting for a sign, for strength.

-Momina.

Tread it Together!

When there’s not much to say,

And too much has been heard.

Regrets pile up along with each step

The road seems all desolate and dust.

Look for the tiny green sprouting up,

Around you among the dried up crust

Wonder, how in the deserts they mature?

When all tread it together you see,

It’s about time the earth goes soft and subtle

That’s where you are right now, child,

Helping in smoothing land for tomorrow. 

Momina.

Stagnant in emotions

We are caged from within, by ourselves; our ways of life, our morals, our personality. We cannot change that. No matter how brutal the fall or how hard we try, how many coats we plant on. We always remain the same at our core.  We always fall prey to ourselves. Even the strongest of us breakdown, once in a while, from the pressure of it all.  It’s there, pulling us down, drowning us whilst we try to breath in the stuffy air. Is it wrong, is it really, to want from others at the same degree? Are our expectations really pointless? Do we not deserve the same? Or are some of us just here to look after and not be look-after-ed? It makes us want to change, we make promises to ourselves but in the end we are the same, the same we were yesterday; probably with another layer that is supposed to harden us, but is really just pointless. We are there for others, standing there suspended in waiting while the others have already moved on. They are too far to notice us still standing there stagnant in emotions and morale. They've changed, found another somebody to rely on, to look forward to. It doesn't matter to them, but to us.

And at the end of the day, those little unsaid words of appreciation are really what break us down. It makes us wants to stop caring when we can’t, to stop expecting when we can’t; because we our bound by our ways, our principles, our personality. Whilst they… they've gone... moved on. 

Momina.

Silenced.

She sat alone on the lone bench; a silver head facing the outstretched yet empty gardens, behind her stood the old building where a dozen more like her sat. She could hear the endless whispers in her ears, calling out to her, even when no when was around.She was alone still. All her life she craved for solidarity and silence and now, when her wish was attained, she only shuddered in pain and longing, at all times.  Truly alone and trapped in isolation of her own body; unable to utter a word or hear anything apart from old murmurs. She saw their lips move, she saw them laugh and then she'd cry to herself, in her own solitary mind. Abandoned. Deserted. Shut away from all those around with a constant reminder that it was her own much desired wish, she sat alone on the single bench, facing the empty gardens, isolated in a world of gazillions, forgotten like a thousand day dreams…

I cried...

We have a high roof in the lounge, higher than that in other rooms, so sometimes I lie down and stare at it, and I think. Last night, I stared at it because sleep wouldn’t come to me and I cried. I cried because I had lost friends. I cried because I knew I was losing the rest. I cried because I had no idea what was going on. I cried because I didn’t know the path of my future. I cried because I forgot what went on in the past. I cried because at that moment I forgot everything and I cried because I was lost, not known when to be found again. I cried because I was unhappy. I cried because my unhappiness made others unhappy. I cried because some people suddenly just stop. I cried because I wasn’t sure if they trusted me that moment. I cried because I was alone, because I was sad and for some reason guilty. I cried because sometimes nobody understands. And I cried because sometimes they understand too much. I cried because I misinterpreted people. I cried because everything is just an illusion. I cried because there really is no perfection. I cried because the end is always too close. I cried because it all made sense but then I cried because I was confused. I cried and cried and then I fell into an uneasy slumber. I hope nobody cries like that.

Momina.

smoked cigarettes

Staring into the eyes of the little girl in front of her, she was abruptly pushed back into her own childhood where these eyes belonged to her; full of fear and loneliness, craving attention and love. 

She stood at her bedroom door staring down into the hall of the great big mansion. The mansion, even though her home scared her; it was too big and too delicate, the opposite of a cozy home. She looked down on to the open hall her eyes skimming through all the people who looked similar to each other till her eyes landed on the one person she wanted to see. There were a lot of people surrounding her but she was nothing like any of them. There was a striking aura around that particular person that captivated the young child. Her eyes followed the figure careful not to lose it, she knew she'd loose her with just one blink and her eyes were already drowsy from sleep. The swollen bloodshot eyes that dominated the pale little face darted from figure to figure as she lost her mother in the party crowd. It was then that she realized the smoke from all the cigarettes and cigars was getting to thick, irritating her eyes and throat. Turning her tiny self away from the body she coughed and went inside, closing the door shut behind her, she opened her window and sat on it, wiping away her watery eyes and looking up into the dark sky she said a little prayer like every day and then called her dear old nanny.

'Would you call mama to come and kiss me good night?' she asked.

'I am afraid she's busy my dear!' the nanny replied gently.

'But won't you try, please?'

'I shall' she said although knowing that the mother won't come and the poor child would drift to sleep waiting.

--

It's late, very late, and almost time for dawn but she's awake sitting on the big arm chair gazing at her mother as if she was a diamond encrusted statue. Her mother though is unaware of her presence as she lies on the couch with eyes closed, smoking a cigarette. The little child doesn’t go near her mother afraid she'll push her into the table like the other day. She loves her but she wants her mother's love. She needs it. She looks at the carpet scattered with ash and ash-tray filled with cigarette butts. Her fearful eyes follow her mother's figure as it gets up and walks away leaving her behind alone. The poor child shudders at the hate she feels wafting at her!  She brings her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them, letting her tears paint her cheek wet. 

--

Time has passed now but the scene is more or less identical. The endless promises she made to herself to not become like her mother have proved futile. She is the same as her mother, hateful, selfish and torn.  And the dear little child with exactly her eyes is her daughter, who even now sits before her with glassy pained eyes and rosy cheeks staring at her smoking a cigarette, very much like herself at a very distant time. It's another generation yet much the same. She has been ignoring the innocence of that child's face and she will be the one to make her like herself. As if hit by a revelation, she suddenly drops her half smoked cigarette that burns right through her beautiful sheer silk wrap that is lying on the floor and her white plush rug, normally she would have not let this go, even if her own fault, but right now it goes unnoticed.  The room is dark and dotted with candles, like every day. Light seem to burn her eyes so she lights candles in the whole house. In the dim light from the candles she can see as the tears slip past the six year old child's eyes. Involuntarily she, herself gets up and stands before her daughter, reaching out and grabbing her hand; holding on tight she gently wipes the tears  with her free hand and drags her along, walking the whole house with her. Blowing gently on the candles and saving that which should be saved, not just a candle, but an innocence for generations.

Momina.

In The Middle Of Nowhere

I am not asleep but then I am not awake either. I am hanging somewhere in the middle of it all waiting for either one to envelop me so I can pursue something of use. Either go drowning in the world of my dreams or wake enough to manage to do something productive.  The conversation around me is hushed to murmurs yet at times it's so loud I can make out whole pieces of gossip. I weave in my own scenarios with every new piece of conversation beading a very long story, of course I cannot make head or tails out of it but it's just there; something I can hold on to while I tumble between consciousness and unconsciousness. Back and forth. And back and forth…

I can perceive that I am not getting anywhere with this state of coma but I am senseless; I can feel thoughts surround me in a haphazard fashion but I don’t have the energy to worry about them, or do they just flip out of my grip? The lights around my eyes blink in contrast until I am pretty sure they'd blind me. I have lost that absurd story of mine to hold on to and I might be rolling towards one of my goals though the ride seems endless I will get there eventually, hopefully in my right mind but till then I am useless and in the middle of nowhere (and just to make sure I am alone, there is no Muriel or courage the dog or even Eustace.)

Momina.

Seclusion II

I could feel the frost around me, random thoughts bombarding me but not bothering to stay. I could feel the hesitation, the hope, the regret. Disappointment. A prayer said silently for what stands ahead, wishing it won't go unheard like the rest. My steps are slow and I have an intense feeling that they won't take me much far. I barely know where I tread neither does my semi-consciousness cares. It gets heavier every time; the weight of expectations, the burden of realities, the biased truth! It's not simple it gets demanding and as predicted I feel myself falling, down under the weight of myself, the world. There's no tranquility surrounding me, like I hoped for, rather an agitated and disconcerted environment that I feel. I can't keep my eyes open, but I can't close them either. Not yet! I'll plead forgiveness, I shall beg for serenity, I want to know the way it feels, I want to sense it around me. But maybe not. Help! It's pulling on me. I drift in and out of the blackness. No please! Not the shadows! I detest them, loath them. But I get no choice they drags me with powers so prevailing, their mighty and violent aura's threatening and enveloping, they leave me no choice but to slacken my hold and I let go and away from my very last connection.

Momina.


picture from: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=190484320979553&set=a.178864582141527.45962.174408115920507&type=3&theater

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.

on the dance floor

They both looked around trying to run away as their mothers urged them to dance. She walked reluctantly as her mum pushed her to the center of the dance floor, while he made faces, head down, shuffling his feet. Cursing. They look around when told to dance then turning amber they both grudgingly fall in to step with each other. They both look awkwardly at the guests that comment on their 'cuteness'.  After five minutes of dancing they withdraw timidly and half an hour later they are found happily playing in dirt, together. Two ten year olds, one dressed as a flower girl in a pretty white dress the other in a little pant suit.

Twelve years later they dance hand in hand at the wedding of her sister and his best friend. They dance together, this time more confidently aware of the eyes' of the guests on them, smiling. They repeat familiar dance steps, this time they don’t curse, they smile and chat freely. Half an hour later they are caught outside on a bench giggling, together. Two adults, one maid-of-honor the other the best man, lost in old recollections.

A year later, they face each other again on the dance floor, eyes filled with joy and faces lit with1 infinite happiness. People gaze at them proudly, blessing them. Only this time they don’t care they are too lost within each other to bother. They don’t speak; they have all the time for that now. Later, hand in hand they cut the cake, one dressed in a white bride's dress the other in a tux fit for any groom. For just an hour ago they have been bonded forever, at the altar, as they were meant to be.

M.