Freefall

Panic.

Confusion.

Hysteria.

I cannot fathom where I am headed nor where I am. The colours around me are blurred and blended into terrifying forms of a troubled artist's handiwork. Cold, menacing winds pierce into my bones. Slowly, I float. In the mortifying silence, I smile through gritted teeth. Somewhere in the freefall, I shifted focus. The persistent cold and the tumultuous colours seemed to fade away. And then in the hurricane, I found bliss. 

Now I struggle to make it stay.

I looked outside at the soil that was slowly cooling down after surviving the ferocity of the midday sun. Scalding streams of wind were kicking up dust and sprinkling it over the road. The world outside was bone dry, unaware of the tempests which had enraged the seas of thought in which I was struggling to stay afloat.

Stationed at my table, looking over the dusty summer evening, I tried to ground myself to reality and plant the tree of thought back in its place again, after being so cruelly uprooted. It now stands bare and ruffled. New spouts of young, tender leaves were beginning to appear already.

The sky seemed to be gawking at the world in a subtle gradient that dipped to a deep ultramarine at the horizon. It lay blithe and carefree, calmed by the remnant rays of the final hours of day. From the corner of my eye, I could see the moon, now pale blue, peeking out from the thin clouds of dusk which were slowly strolling across the sky. Like a bespoke addition to this dreamy display, Venus was shining brightly in the lilac layers of the now deepening astral gradient. The mynahs and sparrows were taking a last look at the evening star before heading home. The swirling hues reflected in their beady eyes. Their beaks were ajar.

As I stretched my legs and gazed out at the lavender canopy of clouds, I thought:

Do the stars ever yearn to glow brighter in the darkness? Maybe as bright as Venus? And in yearning so, rip their souls apart. With the darkness again, they become one. 

As the light slowly disappeared, the sounds of bells, prayers and chants soon filled the air with an ambiguous murmur. The rich purple evening was complemented by the heavy scent of incense. 

I remember those days long ago when I used to lay down and look at the night sky through the gaps in between the laced white curtains. 

I used to imagine fantastical things occurring right outside the window. Whales swimming in the iridescent ocean up above. Spaceships floating above the roof, lighting up the backyard with an eerie blue glow. And even angels, gently perched upon the window sill, wearing a peaceful smile on their face. 

But slowly, the winds of time swept them away, leaving empty windows with even emptier reflections. 

But you see, in this very room, I have pencils, pens and paper. With art and words, once again I shall find those worlds. 

I shall bring back the beings that once swam gracefully in the sky, weaving through the stars and the angels that watched them with glee. 

Until then I will fight against the dying of the light.

In this freefall, I will fly.