People waited for the dawn and I waited for the night. Yes, I preferred the dark over the bright. I still do but what I used to love and adore so much, what I considered to be so closely associated with me, this night now has shown its ugly face.
The darkness within is nothing compared to the darkness which prevails outside. I always worshiped this inner darkness which helped me write, which helped me express, and which helped me dance. Seems odd, right? But night was my companion. Darkness was my love. It still do love it despite our break-up recently!
I recall that time when I used to witness those dark times at home. Beating, bashing, abusing and mayhem all around. That time when a kid used to weep in the corner then all he had was a night's shield, a cover and a blanket. It used to cover him, protect him, and nurture him.
There came a point when it became a constant affair [this routine of violence at home] that he was too trained to weep while watching this happened. His stony eyes seemed to work as a camera. Recording each action, each slap, food thrown during the act of coaxing one another, sonority of utensils thrown, kids beaten-up, and recording the utter state of disorder. He recorded it all. Everything.
After that all he used to do was go out in the balcony and stare at the dark sky. [In his underwear till he was nine during summers and a track-suit in winters. He still has that track-suit. He doesn't wear it now. He has preserved it as a souvenir. Who wish to keep a souvenir for this? Do you also?] And he used to wonder that he is in a secret and open relationship with this lonely sky. This sky which is blue in poets' language, lauded by lovers when it pours rains, abused and shamed when it doesn't pour a drop. This sky which is a never ending canvas and a pool where your thoughts can emerge from, dive in, and ultimately bury itself in it.
For me this sky featuring a few silvery dots is like an acne stricken face. He was a bit loner. And we both were a perfect match.
We both loners became good friends. You know, I and the lonely sky share a lot of secrets. I considered it as my dearest friend. I don't know why I seem to not adore today's sky. Sorry, tonight's sky. We broke-up and our relationship is unlike it used to be.
You look dark, my sky. Well, you were but you look darker than ever. And now you scare me.
You scare me for you bring back the same picture again. You're playing that recording again. I am reminded of that time, I can hear the screams and I feel the nauseating times repeating itself again. Only to leave me disturbed this time, and with an unmatched degree.
And in this dreading night, I can't even go out and confess my fears to you, my sky. The loner who has been my friend for years now has turned his face on me in hard-times.
See, I don't want you, I can handle this on my own. All I want is that please don't slip my secrets into the bedrooms of people, don't place them on a platter in peoples' offices' lunch room, don't slip it into the college grapevine. Just spare me from being a filthy abuse. Collect the whole bunch, add your fury, pack it in hurry and crash it like a meteoroid somewhere.
The darkness within is nothing compared to the darkness which prevails outside. I always worshiped this inner darkness which helped me write, which helped me express, and which helped me dance. Seems odd, right? But night was my companion. Darkness was my love. It still do love it despite our break-up recently!
I recall that time when I used to witness those dark times at home. Beating, bashing, abusing and mayhem all around. That time when a kid used to weep in the corner then all he had was a night's shield, a cover and a blanket. It used to cover him, protect him, and nurture him.
There came a point when it became a constant affair [this routine of violence at home] that he was too trained to weep while watching this happened. His stony eyes seemed to work as a camera. Recording each action, each slap, food thrown during the act of coaxing one another, sonority of utensils thrown, kids beaten-up, and recording the utter state of disorder. He recorded it all. Everything.
After that all he used to do was go out in the balcony and stare at the dark sky. [In his underwear till he was nine during summers and a track-suit in winters. He still has that track-suit. He doesn't wear it now. He has preserved it as a souvenir. Who wish to keep a souvenir for this? Do you also?] And he used to wonder that he is in a secret and open relationship with this lonely sky. This sky which is blue in poets' language, lauded by lovers when it pours rains, abused and shamed when it doesn't pour a drop. This sky which is a never ending canvas and a pool where your thoughts can emerge from, dive in, and ultimately bury itself in it.
For me this sky featuring a few silvery dots is like an acne stricken face. He was a bit loner. And we both were a perfect match.
We both loners became good friends. You know, I and the lonely sky share a lot of secrets. I considered it as my dearest friend. I don't know why I seem to not adore today's sky. Sorry, tonight's sky. We broke-up and our relationship is unlike it used to be.
You look dark, my sky. Well, you were but you look darker than ever. And now you scare me.
You scare me for you bring back the same picture again. You're playing that recording again. I am reminded of that time, I can hear the screams and I feel the nauseating times repeating itself again. Only to leave me disturbed this time, and with an unmatched degree.
And in this dreading night, I can't even go out and confess my fears to you, my sky. The loner who has been my friend for years now has turned his face on me in hard-times.
See, I don't want you, I can handle this on my own. All I want is that please don't slip my secrets into the bedrooms of people, don't place them on a platter in peoples' offices' lunch room, don't slip it into the college grapevine. Just spare me from being a filthy abuse. Collect the whole bunch, add your fury, pack it in hurry and crash it like a meteoroid somewhere.
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