The moon fades into its darkness and I lean towards mine
292 Days and a few hours … and there it is… absolutely
quietly stillborn.
Sometimes we are all Quixotic. The little bits, the tattoos, the unpracticed naiveté' beguiles you.
The ways before and after bleed into each other and then just coagulate. Scar tissues would remain.
Battle Scars, Baby!
Mounted on the faith of other – giving myself a permission to do this – to do what comes easy to all - I moved with measured intentions – much after the fuel finished, the ashes turned icy, much much after… the stillborn-ness of it was poisoning my insides.
When the screams fade in the echoes of your own screams. When you don’t even lose your mind. When the accumulated nitrogen necrosis of 15750psi pressure doesn’t kill you, yet.
Nothing moved and yet I flirted with the peripheries of debasement. Debasement of unfelt kindness. Debasement of sympathies where only empathy should have been the play. Telling myself – you’ve done more for worse. Wait. Don’t Run.
Waiting. Waiting. Going Back and Waiting some more – quieting the existential calculus raging inside.
It breaks bits of you – this quiet cyclones, sometimes even the most precious ones –
barely touching the precious core. Phew! That was close! Or Was it? Were you really saved?
And then I Stop – standing
still in the middle of whirling chaos. Just like that.
Like a sudden appearance of vermillion streaks of first light.
Snap! It began.
Snap! It stopped.
The barrier absolute.
I close my eyes and shut down my being. And jump… free floating from the brink of annihilation – a leap into unknown. There’s no where else to go.
The dark sublime. My
home.
I said grace, opened the door and stepped out into Narnia - never to go back. I have walked out into the meadow
with bare feet, just to feel the dew. To pay homage to the way the grass has
always been there, lush, tangled, season after season to harbour field mice and
Queen Anne's lace and milkweed and monarchs.
I go, because for so long this choreography of dark and dazzle claims me - i wasn't ready to float on faith, perhaps?
Claims me still. And here i am...
Copyright©Neerja Yadav
Pic Credits