Halfway House

Life has become nocturnal. It seemingly has condensed for now. As days and nights pass by, the dawn has escaped into a permanent dusk. It isn’t darkness forever, even though bringing in gasps of hopelessness from the eerie cigarette puffs. It’s a state of conscious slumber perhaps. Yes, it is. This time, it is. For time cannot stand in stillness. And the heart cannot just remain floating forever on a coffee mug.

But, today, there is stillness in the heart and everywhere else. The sinking hasn’t ended for days. It might not very soon. In a solitary sea like a lost island, sorrow has girdled the heart.

As Orhan Pamuk writes in The Museum of Innocence, “In poetically well-built museums, formed from the heart's compulsions, we are consoled not by finding in them old objects that we love, but by losing all sense of Time.”

The sense of time has been lost in these empty, uncounted days, in anticipation of spring. The spring that once was. And that will be.

As a friend scribbled recently, “So that we’re never alone after sunset” on a book, it set a sense of euphoria within. There was hope beyond the heart’s aching corridors. Today, the heart may be a halfway house amidst hollow forts of hope. Tomorrow, the lost will be back.

The shadow of hope quivers in these days and nights. In this city, abuzz with celebration every day, the moon glances through the window each night as if sparkling with innocence.

And then, came the commercially celebrated, day of love. Roses swung at each other. Hearts crossed with an arrow. As I stood amidst the chants of promises and lively discourses on relationships, there was everything, even happiness but love visible to the naked eye. Love had become a ‘hookah bar’ today.

It’s been pouring heavy all through the weekend. The sound of raindrops brings peace. It mustn’t stop. There is calmness in the air, as these raindrops fall on the trees across the window in the darkness of the night. Even the leaves, creating a sound of chuckle, are forlorn. ‘I want to live in this melody forever’, the mind wonders. It’s however, a time when loneliness torments you much more than ever. And you pass out, dreading the silence.

As Pablo Neruda writes in his poem ‘White Bee’

“Ah you who are silent!

Here is the solitude from which you are absent.

It is raining. The sea wind is hunting stray gulls.

The water walks barefoot in the wet streets.

From that tree the leaves complain as though they were sick.

White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul.

You live again in time, slender and silent.

Ah you who are silent!”

The Unpredictability of Love

Among other things life fosters unpredictability.  At times for good, mostly for the worse. There is a furor against it. An upheaval of emotions searching for the missing link. In desperation, heartaches and anguish it’s difficult to fall in line with life as usual. A permanent haze sets in as dusk to a ravishing dawn.

She was a born lover. It was like a twinkle in her kohl black eyes. From the beginning she opened her arms wide in joy, overwhelmed with life. Life was a celebration of its colors. The freedom to dance in the quilt of clouds. In longing to explore the hidden invisible corners. It was the simplicity of her zeal. The madness of her enthusiasm. And the mere independence of her style that made her love. In short, life overtook love. 

He too was a born lover. It was deep inside his nervous heart. From the beginning he stood for his commitment in all fairness, devotion. Love was beyond everything. Love was a lifelong worship. It was madness of a different kind. It was a full blown emotionally fulfilling. In trance he remained. Forever. Oblivious to the mistakes. 

She was perched high. With her loud voice, out in open. There was determination to conquer. 

He was slanted low. With his roaring nervous heart, in longing. There was hope against hope.

She now sleeps in solitude to live a dream. 

He wanders alone to be a part of the dream. 

Both separated by silence. In waiting he remains to be her sunshine; she his moonlight.

Are you alone?

Do you walk alone?

I do.

I walk into the night. There is an uncomfortable silence.  I am alone. The deafening silence is choking. It pours tough questions into the thought process. It mingles with the blood inside my veins sending shivers across the body. It is the darkness of the world. With my head bowed before the evil silence I walk distraught. I walk into the congested woods. The thorns lash at my body. Tears from this journey burn all along. Yes, the pain is unbearable. The truth of this pain has been swallowed. It lies buried inside the ocean of fear, even as the moon is witness.

Am I afraid? 

Has the world left me to walk alone?

Will I be pushed to the corner forever?

Time is a great healer. I however won’t wait for time to transform into a touch of solace. I will walk amidst dark clouds. I will cross the path of fear. The frozen river of hope will have to melt in my presence.  I will talk to the devil into the eyes. The burning rage inside my heart won’t spare the evil silence. I will tear it apart alone. No, the bullet won’t be my guard. The sun will envy my patience.

I will walk alone. I will answer the silence equivocally. I will bring to light the fire of hope. I will conquer the stormy night of discomfort. The gloomy wind will cry at its fate. I will walk alone if the world turns its back to me. I will.

I will drink the tears of sorrow. I will forget the pain of separation. I will burn myself to bring the truth to the surface. I will let an astonished time stare at my actions. I will walk alone.