Living in a glassbowl…

Gentle whispers of whizzing breeze that’s tinted on a canvas of falling leaves and rough barks, on a familiar place that I have forgotten long ago, It feels like I’m home again. An hour past two I am longing for a shadow that sits silently on a long abandoned bench, under the tree, along with the roars of a few jeeps that route the place. What a contradiction, earth and steel, whispers and roars, longing and a certain unknown. Could love sleep? My senses are at rest for about six months now, and now I’m calling them to bring the pieces back to life. Was love dead? Or has it slept with the months that went by, noiselessly embracing the senses that deserted me?

            Emotions could be very unpredictable and even uncontrollable when held nameless. My scheme is acquainted with changes and it has been built with that startling skill of indefatigably finding the middle ground. In the absence of a face it learns to blind itself, with the lack of smile it befriends other grins, without life it goes on lifeless, in the absence of something, it tends to forget.

            Was it sanity? When you pick something up you let something else fall and then you bend down to escape the sight of regret but all you see is a fallen person and the fallen person is you. Seeing yourself in the middle of nowhere paving your way through a universe of everlasting unpredictability, what a lovely spectacle! I picked something up and I hung unto it. As I hung unto it, I nearly fell but something caught me, saved me. Even memories are fleeting. But moments are moments, figments of yesterday that once created… lingers… I hung unto it and I felt its splendor. I am a part of what it is, of what it has become…

It was fragile… and…Beautiful…

The most beautiful thing that ever touched soul…