Unobstructed

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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.

Sun-drenched In Winter Rain

I am sitting outside in the severe cold, in the shade of the porch while the rain beats down heavily around me. The winter rain has left everything looking gloomy and the sky is a dirty blue. The sound of the rain varies as it falls; sometimes falling in lights drizzles and the next minute it's pelting down heavy with utmost noise and clamour. The cup of tea besides me_only been consumed half_ has gone cold and the music ringing through my ear-phones faintly is lost somewhere among the sound of the rain. The only sound is that of rain, distinct and clear, and the occasional thunder when the clouds strike. Like the sound and velocity of the rain, the scene varies; switching between  bleakness and streaks of sunlight. The cool breeze wafts the rain towards me and it dampens my feet and my face as I lean towards it. The rain diverts its direction and the naked wind strikes my face, stinging. I don't move.

My face is numb and I can't feel my body. Thoughts run through my head, unstoppable but my mind's too occupied by the rain; they run like the background noise, trying to lure me towards them but I pay them no heed. They still flip constantly, though, one after the other and never skipping a beat.

My eyes are closed, my mind numb; the sound and smell of rain over-taking me. It's utter chaos yet there's a calmness that can never escape. It's the war of peace. I hug myself, trying fruitlessly to protect myself agaist the wind whipping around me, I could easily walk five steps, go inside, make a fresh cup of tea and sit besides the heater. But I don't... I won't. Realisation strikes when it rains, and getting me inside while it beats down is impossible. I pluck out my ear phone, stuffing them in my pocket. I suppose nothing can chill me further now and with that thought I step out in the open, out in the rain. I look down at the water flooding and clashing around my feet and then upwards as the sun breaks through the clouds, strokes of it coloring everything around. The rain descends still, not bothered by any hinderence and so I stand as rain drenches me. I stand there, paused till the last drop hits my face.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #8

I rarely like the fizz. It makes me feel weird and it tickles. I like my drinks flat. I mean, it’s pretty senseless since they are called carbonated drinks for a reason and normal people like to drink them when they are fizzy. Normal people; who are they really? Is it being distinct in our own way? Because, no matter what we all are unique in our own sense.
I don’t think there is a normal. It’s an exotic jungle out there, with every distinct specie possible and they are all last in their own way. An exotic jungle of endangered species is what it is. There’s no normal, no average. Never is, was or will be. You are special, but so is every other person. You can’t judge that because you have no right to. There is no limit to how different you are no degree to your specialty. But, you are the one, the only and the last you. There won’t be any like you to follow. You are special.
You can be the one for fizz or the one for flat, or you might like them mixed up, there are endless possibilities but you are something extraordinary. You are special.

-Momina.

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.

Hope

She watches every sunrise with such passion, intrigued by the exquisiteness of it, taking in every single way it differs from the sunrise the day before. She prays as she watches the scarlet turning to amber, a streak of pink and gold. Who knows which of these sunrises would turn her life around and onto the route of contentment? She didn’t want to miss the advent of the day that would change her life.  And so she implored every first light, bidding the morning moon goodbye. It pained her to leave with the grief inside that maybe this day would be same as the last, but bless her for she still had hope for smiles. 

Momina.

A smile to make your day!

                                                                        ^the smile that makes me smile everyday! 

Sometimes at night,

With tearful eyes that speak of hurt,

That life has bestowed.

With no consolation for all the wounds

A single smile from a stranger helps.

A comfort that you can never interpret,

A signal to be cheerful again

Momina.