a beautiful garden

I have come here countless times. Stared at this sufficient white space and felt empty. Nothing to write I wondered these many days. I thought pulling out a few strands of my hair would do. Excessive hair fall puts an end to this wild a need. Thus my frail hands fall down on the keys and aimlessly and recklessly dance about the board. It’s all in here I know but refuses to come out. The mind refuses to obey the commands. The stubborn thoughts are determined to stay in. I am waiting for them to explode someday…

Meanwhile a few drops down the cheek, banging fists on table tops, hiding under the blanket for sleep to sweep you away, earphones plugged in your ears with random songs on the play…nothing helps. Whats inside is gasping for life. It neither dies nor survives. Just stays there, stuck in a moment, rather in various figments of moments scattered inside. Thus every day the burden is carried around, up and down the stairs, during the long walks, lying alongside as you glance up the invaded sky. Sleep hovers; a groan in the stomach protests for food but the mind is heavy with the weight of the stubborn thoughts brutally crushing any hope for survival.

The horse runs wildly along the shores, blue sea touching the yellow horizon while I try not to fall. The wind hits me at every angle and horse gallops like there’s no stopping. A shrilling scream and a few running steps snap me back to where I was- within seconds, even micro seconds I am here, sitting under the bus stop a bit past noon. The hazy sun hangs in the freshly polluted sky, voices loud and whispers, excited with gossip and speedy chatter, tongues licking melting ice creams, cell phones ringing fanatically all cushion around me. Eyes set on the book but not moving. I am distracted by the conversations nearby and most obviously by a pair of legs ‘vibrating’ nonstop. My eyes dart the few words again and again. The pages seems endless, the words countless and my eyes frozen. The chubby girl sits next to me and constantly shakes her legs. The only pause, though brief and quick, happen when she takes a bite of her ice cream bar. I turn back my attention and stare past the crowded college gate. I stare hard. For sometime more. I can’t really figure out if there are a lot of lazy flies buzzing on leftovers or people hugging the gates…why do I feel so out of place? Alice in wonderland…I remember falling down a deep dark tunnel, only not intrigued but utterly lost…no tags guiding me, no drinks no cakes and no beautiful gardens. I think I am not past the tunnel journey.

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17 thoughts on “a beautiful garden

  1. beatifulllllllllllllll sketc with words…. i am kinda swept away in your dream!!!bless you for takin me along 😀heheheor may i say i just made myself comfotable!!!p.s. my prince switched on a horse now, this one… and quit the mule 😀in my dreams of course!

  2. Calm Cool says:

    same kind of feeling which i narrates as a “in between frustration and confusion” captivates me alot but the difference is that you are still capable of putting this all in words and i failed to do so. thats why most of the time my empty white space pages remains the same until i close the window. phew!!I appreciate the way you described it, just wish some day i could also do that. as seher said: beautiful sketch of words!

  3. I love this, it’s the perfect definition of how we’re watching the world pass us by and simply being blown away by the moments around us.Thanks for your kind words on my blog.x

  4. Thats an oxymoron mubi. You know you didn’t have anything to write about and still you came up with such a beautiful beautiful post.When i started reading it, i was confused, i thought i’d write there’s something wrong and i’m confused, but by the end, i realised confusion, frustration was and other things grey was exactly what you wanted to depict and you did that so beautifully. You know, i sometimes pause for a bit and think about the world and time running past me as well, i stand beside myself, and normally i dont feel out of place, but sometimes, when i look at stuff happening to me, mostly good, i feel as if all this is a dream when its not. But dark stuff apart You’re a mighty good writer. MashaALLAH, not that people didn’t know this.

  5. MJ says:

    purple, aw thanks! im not really sure if i am that talented :pexquisite! doc where have you been? hehehe me and my blocks :/light at the end of tunnel..hm well said..i think its true

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