Over and Over, again

Wrapped in the veil of unwanted sympathy,
Wallowing in wisps of heartfelt misery.
Ribbons of reasons fading away,
Streaks of options turning grey.
Sneaking in and out for clues,
Dipping in disappointment, afresh
Acclaiming expectation that gnaw on insides.
Beaten down by confronting tries.

-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.

Echoing secrets

It’s in the wee hours of the morning when everything is so still it’s almost sinister, when the silence can be shattered by the drop of a pin, when it’s slightly scary even in the comfort of your own house; it’s in these dark moments that deep thoughts prevail me and I get the urge to write down all those. They are not about my life, these thoughts; they are about life in general, about the laws of nature and about people, strangers and friends alike. 

In these hours nothing makes sense and yet all of it makes more sense than ever. It’s so intricately designed, to be understood but at a certain moment, to be known but at a specific time; when you doubt it. When you suspect the truth of your thoughts and when truth is not transparent but lucid. The reality is so obvious that it’s suffocating.

And as dawn descends my pen just hovers over the paper, it has left splotches of ink; dark blue circles spread across the clear page. I recognize the truth but I have no power to write it, my thoughts reside but my words escape and betray me. A betrayal that doesn't hurts, an infidelity so obvious it is looked over, for these secrets are meant to be realized not spoken. Everyone falls through the reality of these moments, none can flee and none can incarcerate it in words or so. They are meant for all of us alone, secrets of nature that are meant to exist in in nature only. 

-Momina.

Picture source: http://stanzlife.wordpress.com/

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.

lie,lie, truth.

They hide under those hazy clouds,

Behind the wisps of evident lies.

They try to prove futile points,

Backed against the wall of truth.

And then they fight their own kind,

Basking in their own deceit.

-Momina.