Wednesday, April 20, 2011 by B.H.

Like, when lilac-colored cotton curtains sway to and fro – and the moves are contemporized with the western winds. When strands of light leak through the gilded rifts from behind the curtains magnifying the aura. It is queasy, strangely, when the eyes are fixed on the rotted posy of endearing flowers – lying on the checkered floor.
Feeling nothing but numbness – standing alone…surrounded by the countless mirrors – reflecting countless sickish dark shapes and shadows squeaking something God knows what over and over again. Countless hairy clawed fangs filled with poisonous hatred. And on my right hand, they reflect the unorganized modern furniture covered with the off-white sheets paled by the dirt in a mellowly lit room and different scattered shades of inkiness and decorated with poison ivy in numerous strange looking pots. Thinking…about the pictures of us while passing beneath the ebonies, about the secrets that fled the hearts and wiggled freely with the winds and vanished inside them.
There’s too much anger in the winds tonight, beating back everything, papers squirming violently, trees flickering back and forth as if to grasp something other than the darkness. Trying to haze over my thinking. It is not merry because, merry it is not. Hands of the clock are speeding – until the moment that is supposed to absorb everything inside it, from the largest piece of the furniture to an empty packet of chocolate chip cookies lying on the floor.



Tazeen said...

I read this today. Why didn't I read this before?

I pray to God, the winds changed.

B.H. said...

=) At least you read it.. And the winds did change, although that was for a while. =)

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