My nights are restless, in the most comforting way. The drowsy stupor, is to me what a lioness is to her cub- protection, of the most lethal kind. Slithering its way into every vein that runs through my body. Electrifying, and mind numbingly painful simultaneously.
The clock strikes 12. The mind begins to unravel, hungry for the seeds that keep it alive. Oh how it consumes those seeds, how it blooms once each seed has been planted. How does a fragile mind manage to cope under the pressure of the thoughts it has accumulated? Let me explain. These words that spill out of me, these hands which will pick up a pen and simply write without hesitating. I fear for those who do not caress the pages of a worn book, for those who do not read written art and simply feel exhilarated over the notion that words can be written exactly how you feel in such a beautiful manner. That they can be read over and over again, allowing them to sink right into your soul for that blissful relief.
Your mind trudges on, in the darkness that envelopes it. Erect and aware as a deer that is being preyed upon. It's an eerie quiet. The pitch black for a tortured mind, is the sole reason it will continue to strive to stay alert until it sees the light again.
On this strenuous path, the mind hunts for that glow. At times, throughout the day- it will feel as if progress has been made. Tiny warm sparks here and there as the morning morphs into afternoon, giving the illusion that tonight your mind will be inactive. In fact you even implore yourself to see if this is true, but you are brought back to a standstill with no answer. Draw the curtains once more before laying to rest, you do not have the answers just yet.
Around 3am, you realise your struggle is futile. The strange awakening deep inside you away from your mind altogether occurs, that hope you can't seem to banish. That silly, pathetic, hope. That infuriating hope, that something will change. You climb in an attempt to find another way, to reach your destination quicker. You fall, and clamber to try again.
The emergent horizon is almost near.
The mind now twists and writhes in pain. Struggling to find its place at this time. Vehemently trying to grasp at something long gone, that lost forgotten peace it harvested when it had found a tranquil spot. Where had it gone now? Can such a beautiful nostalgia ever present itself without the anguish? Solitary confinement in a place that was once so comfortable to you.
The warmth of the glow has slowly started seeping into your mind. You crawl on, urging all the while for it to grow and engulf you. You shiver, and allow pain to enter the mind raw. You are able to take the sudden attack as you know it is nearly all over. Dawn is about to break, the end is nigh. You crave that tranquility. Like warm honey as a child, it will be sweet.
Just as the sky stains a glorious shell pink, you do not see but feel the dull orange swirl just behind the pink- the rays blinking through your blinds, and dancing as the colours mix in the sky on top of your body. The light continues to travel through to slither inside you reaching nerve endings and instantly lulling your mind into an infants sleep. The silence outside is deafening. As the sky continues to sing to the earth, the birds begin their melody to you. Their harmonies signalling to you that dawn has broken.
S.K.
The clock strikes 12. The mind begins to unravel, hungry for the seeds that keep it alive. Oh how it consumes those seeds, how it blooms once each seed has been planted. How does a fragile mind manage to cope under the pressure of the thoughts it has accumulated? Let me explain. These words that spill out of me, these hands which will pick up a pen and simply write without hesitating. I fear for those who do not caress the pages of a worn book, for those who do not read written art and simply feel exhilarated over the notion that words can be written exactly how you feel in such a beautiful manner. That they can be read over and over again, allowing them to sink right into your soul for that blissful relief.
Your mind trudges on, in the darkness that envelopes it. Erect and aware as a deer that is being preyed upon. It's an eerie quiet. The pitch black for a tortured mind, is the sole reason it will continue to strive to stay alert until it sees the light again.
On this strenuous path, the mind hunts for that glow. At times, throughout the day- it will feel as if progress has been made. Tiny warm sparks here and there as the morning morphs into afternoon, giving the illusion that tonight your mind will be inactive. In fact you even implore yourself to see if this is true, but you are brought back to a standstill with no answer. Draw the curtains once more before laying to rest, you do not have the answers just yet.
Around 3am, you realise your struggle is futile. The strange awakening deep inside you away from your mind altogether occurs, that hope you can't seem to banish. That silly, pathetic, hope. That infuriating hope, that something will change. You climb in an attempt to find another way, to reach your destination quicker. You fall, and clamber to try again.
The emergent horizon is almost near.
The mind now twists and writhes in pain. Struggling to find its place at this time. Vehemently trying to grasp at something long gone, that lost forgotten peace it harvested when it had found a tranquil spot. Where had it gone now? Can such a beautiful nostalgia ever present itself without the anguish? Solitary confinement in a place that was once so comfortable to you.
The warmth of the glow has slowly started seeping into your mind. You crawl on, urging all the while for it to grow and engulf you. You shiver, and allow pain to enter the mind raw. You are able to take the sudden attack as you know it is nearly all over. Dawn is about to break, the end is nigh. You crave that tranquility. Like warm honey as a child, it will be sweet.
Just as the sky stains a glorious shell pink, you do not see but feel the dull orange swirl just behind the pink- the rays blinking through your blinds, and dancing as the colours mix in the sky on top of your body. The light continues to travel through to slither inside you reaching nerve endings and instantly lulling your mind into an infants sleep. The silence outside is deafening. As the sky continues to sing to the earth, the birds begin their melody to you. Their harmonies signalling to you that dawn has broken.
S.K.
Shareen K
