She’s like a miniature storm,
Wrecking havoc like it’s the unspoken norm;
Completely reckless is what you’d call her
If ever alongside her you were;
Unpredictable, she’s an untamed disaster of nature;
Unique, she’s a true masterpiece of the maker;
With her disheveled hair and those wild eyes,
She never fails to be a surprise;
Gallant, she never chooses to hide;
Blunt, she always speaks her mind;
Dauntless, she’s the one who taught me how to live with my head held high.
It’s been several hours since she departed. It’s unbelievable how radiant the sun is now. It seems like he is genuinely happy, as if he has finally moved on. Or is it all just a facade for the clouds that have come to visit? Or it his way of pushing the memories far away? Shine so bright that they can’t come close.
But even if the glaring rays are a result of his joy, what will he feel when he has to leave, knowing that in a few moments, the moon will appear in the same spot? What sort of chaos will take over his mind when he would feel her presence nearby, but unable to steal a single glance? Maybe one, if he’s fortunate.
However much perpetual his ‘happiness’ may seem in the day, it all comes crumbling down when the sky darkens. They may be eternal, but their happiness forever ephemeral.
They are separated by only a few minutes on the clock.
A rare occurrence, the sun and the moon got a little time together today. However, the moon is fading away at a steady rate while the sun is glowing with power, or maybe it is sorrow.
As she says goodbye, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of a cherished memory in the azure sky, the sun sobs, its tears, the rays, falling down upon us. They hope to meet again someday, when they’re slightly older and find a way to evade past their strict schedules—day and night, dawn and dusk, from light to dark, and from dark to light.
I’m thinking, as I look around the light that surrounds me, a favour from the sun, that maybe sometimes tears aren’t so bad after all. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of showing us the light or in this case, making us show it to someone else.
Ever since the years of my childhood, I have always had a bizarre fascination towards the profession of a milkman. I would peek through the windows a little after dawn, when the first rays of sunlight streaked in, waiting for the local milkman to pass by on his blue bicycle, armed with a dozen milk cartons and bottles. I even developed a habit of waiting at the front porch for him to receive the usual two bottles of milk at my house.
“How are you doing today?” he’d always ask.
“I’m fine.” I’d mumble awkwardly.
And then he’d walk away coolly, headed to the next house. I noticed how content he always seemed with his job of delivery service. The fact that some looked down upon his “odd” or “blue collar” job never did seem to faze him. He walked with his head held high and a perpetual beam on his face.
Once, he told me how much he loved meeting new people, seeing new faces. Ironic—his work required him to look at the same faces everyday. But his job did teach him to see, not just to look. He might have had to look at the same face everyday, but each morning, he saw a different person.
You’re never the same person two days in a row.
Friendship—a single word that can get so many emotions swirling through our minds in a matter of seconds. A deep love, affection and an intense sense of belonging. The feeling that is the opposite of loneliness, the feeling we’re all afraid to lose. The feeling I’m craving at the moment. It’s a bond deeper and more meaningful than any chemical ones they teach you about in school—it’s a bond threaded between souls. It’s a bond that is perpetual. It’s a bond whose pull I’m feeling right now, even though I’m not a part of it, sitting on a park bench looking at the group of five adolescents, seated comfortably on the lush green grass which glistened in the sunlight.
The group consisted of three girls and two boys, all ten eyes shimmering with the purely platonic love they had for each other. The books they had brought to study were long-forgotten and strewn messily all around them, left to bask in the soft rays of the afternoon sun. All intentions of studying were forgotten as they laughed together at a childhood incident that was etched onto their hearts. They spoke of better days, reminiscing their times together. Yet you could almost feel them holding on to the strings of optimism, feeling sure that they would have even better days to come; even better days to cherish in their memories. Physically, they were beside a vibrant pink cherry blossom tree in the park, yes, but in their minds, they were somewhere completely different from their actual surrounding—somewhere only they knew.
The dead leaves rustled and crunched under my feet as I strode a little further from the quintet, unable to handle watching them any longer. The sun was shining directly overhead as my eyes inadvertently found something else to stare at. I blinked thrice to make sure my vision was real, and not just a figment of my woeful imagination. It was a pair of friends, but it was not the depth of their bonds that startled me. Rather, it was their identities. The first of the duo was a ginger cat and the other was a pug-faced dog. Cats and dogs-ostensible enemies-here they were, playing with each other’s paws, engulfed in their unconventional friendship. They were proudly defying the laws of nature by forming this friendship that no one had the power to stop. That’s the thing about friendship, it makes you cross boundaries you never imagined you would even in your wildest dreams. It gives you power, power over anything or anyone who might try to bring you down. Your friends become your support system—the ones who will stay by your side until the very end.
While I was stranded inside my mind with only my thoughts as companions, I didn’t notice the stranger who was standing in front of me. The stranger waved his hand in front of my face, breaking me out of my reverie.
“Hey, are you okay? I said you were looking all lonely by yourself. Do you mind if I join you?” he asked with a welcoming smile.
That very moment, I could feel the universe smiling at me. I could feel how right the moment was—with the chirping of the birds and the distant buzzing of the insects in the background. I think I finally found what I had been searching for: a place to belong.
Over there, I still see our kingdom
Formed from long lost dreams and faded hopes,
Its aura no longer fearsome.
Once blooming with ardent passion,
It is now dead,
No longer our love’s reflection.
A kingdom without a king or a queen,
Our empire is lost,
All that’s left is a crumbling dream.
I long to rebuild it
From scratch if we must
But I know that’s absurd
Because we were long ago left to rust.
Labiba's Train 