Poetry, Uncategorized

Daydreaming at Midnight

Gusts of wind momentarily wake me up from a prolonged trance. The mist in my eyes clears up and the clouds in my mind get pushed into a dark corner as consciousness awakens. I find myself careening into the blaring sirens of an oncoming truck. I suddenly yank the steering wheel to my right, dragging the car along. It took me a few moments to realize the event that transpired before. I tried to recollect the reason why I had lost attention to the winding road but could not do so. I was shaken, but when I thought about the reason for my trepidation, it was not because I almost crashed head first into another car potentially killing myself, but rather due to not being able to re-immerse myself into my day dream.
As I drive through valleys of paths uncharted and clogged with the flooding waters of a virulent spring, I look out of my windshield. Rainwater splashes on it but is quickly cleaned away by the wiper set to the motions of a low intensity. The splashes of a few drops fall onto it, stay there for a nervous duration and then multiply in their intensity, several others join in, as if magically born like weeds on an agrarian lawn. They continue splashing and trickling onto my peripheral vision until they succeed in completely blinding my sight. The scene that I see is not unknown to me. It is a blurred view of life, objects appear expanded beyond recognition and tiny spots of light appear almost ominously gigantic. The scene reminds me of the many day dreams that I have been experiencing for the recent few years of my life. Suddenly the wiper awakens and in a majestic swipe reminiscent of the stalwart swords of the knights of middle Ages swinging away at the millions of rain drops from my vision. Reality awakens me yet again. The mind suddenly found asunder in its naked actuality that suddenly is exposed to the existence of the world. I increase the intensity of the knight of the raindrops. Tonight will be a night where the sword will defeat the water.
The sky is tinged with incredible colors; there is sepia seeping into blackness which it drenched in a crimson elegance. The pale gray of the evening hour tries its best not to be replaced by the darkness of the pouring rain but is fruitless. The sky is also a mute witness, like me it is also not in control of its destiny. Its cloak like existence over countless of lives is ironic because the sky does not control its own. It follows a path, of dawning light and dusky nights. It continues in such a mundane routine barring nights like these where it sees a sudden burst of activity. But all of this does not add to its continuation. The sky delights in its embrace of a mundane melancholy and the recent festival like fervor does not feel characteristic of its expanse. As I drive away to the familiar confines of a comfortable home, the sky looks back in discomfort and defeat.
As I pull up into my driveway, I notice the absence of reality around. All those who surround scatter away like ants running away into their hole. There is a dearth of familiarity around and suddenly I feel almost alone in the vast expanse of the sprawling city.
I turn the car off and sit in silence. The storm lashes at the roof of the car intently as if taking my staying inside as a challenge to its might. I exhale coldly, the sound of my breath almost seeming alien to me. I still could not recollect the day dream felt earlier and yet there was a change in me. It was almost like the dream had awakened me to realities hitherto not felt but the absence of its recollection had suddenly trust me back into the confines of a dungeon that was desolate and unnerving. It was calming, sitting inside a metallic box twisted into the shape of a car. It was almost therapeutic in the sense that incongruously the storm comforted me. It seemed to match the state of my mind. The empty expanse of the world and the vacant gaze of the drenched trees match the vacancy in my mind. I feel strangely uninhabited, unaware of my own existence. I look around towards the lawn at nothing in particular noticing a couple of scurrying rabbits. Rabbits on my lawn, strange visitors to an unfamiliar house. I wonder at their lives and ponder upon the complexities of their existence. If my existence is so turbulent, I wonder if rabbit life is calmer. Not expectantly. Lately, the world seems to match my meandering existence. We are all unsatisfied and uncomforted and acutely aware of something missing. The feeling of emptiness felt within the mesh of bones surrounding my ribcage is too omnipresent. I cannot possibly be solitary in this trial. I look up at the sky trying to find the familiar gray seen before but could not. The sky was dark, the gray replaced by a very murky crimson. The hour was late and the sky was defeated against the force of the storm. I get out of the car and proceed inwards. The perpetual battle with bleakness will continue in the shelter of this house. It will continue but unlike most battles, there will be no victor. The storm continued unabated all night, millions of raindrops fell and were soaked up by the thirsty soil. There was something that was lost between the silky dawn and the shattering dusk but I could not define it, maybe I never possessed it in the first place.

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