Some scrawls and scribblings wander off my page again..

In the dark hours, a loud cry cracks through the deafening silence. A flesh, pink and wrinkled shivers in the warmth of its cradle oblivious of the vicious world around. Many suns rise, many rains fall and many moons shine, sometimes crescent sometimes full. Another unpredictable life completes its journey from the cushioned cradle to the damped earth coffin. The mass of body makes peace to reunite with the dampness of the earth that it is initially evolved from…

Regressed tears gave way to the sparkling film covering the hazel of the eye. Her heart played a different rhythm in her chest, she could feel it throbbing impatiently. Outside the moon floated in the velvety sky like a fish in vast oceans. Inside she sat, consumed by the surrounding vacuum.
Somewhere across the waters, a different tune was being played. Some different acts being performed, a different life being lived, in total oblivion to the regressed tears.
She woke up with a sudden jerk, lost her balance and almost fell off the bed. Again. This dream had been haunting her with a strange continuity. A girl, tears, lonely. what could that mean? With so many pending chores, appointments to catch up with, she tossed away the bothering thought of the recurring dream..
It meant nothing. what could a static dream such as that mean anything significant; nothing ever happened to the girl she had dreams of..all she did was sit there and be amused by her own tears?
She was was not a dream…sometimes life plays strange tricks on us.

to be continued forever….

Dark brown eyes, deep in their sockets sit on a broken bench under a thick trunk, towering tree. The sun shines through the branches and a flock of bird flies off to their destiny. Crisp winter leaves fall from a wise tree adjacent to a row of green benches. A fountain without water stands anciently in the center of the piece of lawn. A winter wind blows past the quietly occupied bench and whispers to the tiny specks of dust, as they too take their flight.


5 thoughts on “Some scrawls and scribblings wander off my page again..

  1. seriously moby this is freaky…i wud be scared dead if i see a dream like dis….write happy stuff or dukhi or serious stuff but nt dis haunting stuff..shows u r readin Stephen king

  2. MJ says:

    this has nothing to do with Stephen king..all these scrawls were written a long time back and on different days and time :p lol btw i never thought of it as haunting..but i kinda liked this description 😀

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