A Bleak Twinge

cerise

She gazed at the evening’s sun as it was setting behind the mountains, its glare visible in the clear water of the sea. The dark clouds seemed almost hovering over her head, as intense as the inside of her fragile soul. Cold breeze was whispering in  her ears, the melancholic songs of her misery and touching her reddish warm cheeks as if wipping her tears. Staring at the crimson purviews of this wide sky, she puffed a deep glum sigh as the past memoirs juddered in the corners of her pallium reminding her of all the ache and pain in the form of her scars.

She didn’t want to live a life in the delusion of phony. Neither she wished to live for what she never desired. She could die rather than being forged. But now, standing on the wet sand, she felt her feet going deep inside it such as her soul was burried too, in the pit of miseries. Looking around she felt the nostalgic vibe as the orange yellow rays of parting sun were disappearing eventually. Gone were the good old days and by now her life was a pretty chaotic mess. Amidst the crowd, yet  far apart from everyone. She might had ears to listen but no heart to feel and intellect to understand her ache, her throb and her carks. All she wanted was to be understood. As she moved around this shore, the melancholic air grasped her even tightly.

There were no more birds to sing her sweet songs or make her listen their melodic chirping. No more flowers of the spring were there to bloom in the garden of her desolated heart. She wasn’t able to touch the dew and smell the fragrance, to feel the rain and cherish the sweetness of summer. Her life was like a crestfallen autumn leaf which drags itself on the road just to complete its span before it is crushed beneath someone’s feet. All at once attacked by the glum and black hours, she was left in a state of wretchedness where all she had was her regrets, sorrows, aches and scars to lick and long for the bliss. Her hollow empty eyes would narrate many tales while she would stare aimlessly into nothingness for hours.

Every sunset would betray her and give a false impression of a brighter dawn but then again, the next day’s aurora would be bleaker than before. She was flubbed deep inside, a complete jumbled up chaos, an intense storm which was calm and loud. Her desires were dead, her dreams shattered, the feelings numbed and all in all; she was covered up by a cold slab of void. None to ask, none to talk, none to share, none to care, amidst the middle of a bedlam she was standing in solitude.

Standing in her vanity,
She conked as she stirred,
With each suspire –
She felt inside;
A broken dream,
A dead desire,
A silent ache,
and a bleak beat.

Puffed in apathy –
was a tearing sigh,
Her eyes dampened,
Her soul blunt,
Her blood curdled,
And speech hushed.

She, in such a pandemonium –
Stood alone,
Like a dead stone,
Lost in rumbling despair
In search of bliss.

 

lothy

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6 thoughts on “A Bleak Twinge

  1. Its a beautiful narration. I wish to catch on that level some day. You’re amazing!
    Oh! I just realized your posts arent appearing in my reading pane. I’ll have to re-follow I guess 🙂
    Good day to you!

  2. Oh, the wonders of your WOE..!

    Oh dear, I am afraid your title is erroneous, as the twinge seems more like a tyranmy that wont disappear.

    That you can elucidate on the darkness of your soul to this level of description is way beyond anyone’s capability; I am IMPRESSED at you, dear Suffering Soul..!!

    I must return and bask in this blanket of blue. ( I am not sure cerise is the correct color )

    (((hugs2u)))

    🙂

  3. Just so well written. Could connect to every word. Hira, my dear, you awe me with your writing 🙂 Just love it.

  4. Poor little heart. Life is about ebbs and flows, sometimes while in the ebbs we feel they will never leave. Sometimes they are preparing us for the next flow and we can’t imagine it until it is here. Do not give up hope. Slay your sadness with the art of your words. “great art comes from great pain” – from the book Tortured Artists. We all hurt, and it feels wonderful when someone can put our pain into such beautiful words. Thank you for yours. You are beautiful.

  5. I read the first line and I am commenting, because I think that I should….
    I wonder how Allah gave us such similar techniques of expression, such similar vocabulary, auch similar. horrifying expressions….
    I love your way of writing, because, because, it fells as if I am reading my own piece…

  6. Its really amazing, the similarity I found as I approached to the end. Beautifully finishing off the last bit of vagueness brought in me by the story…I think that you have done an awesome job, something I do once in a month…
    You left me breathless by the illusions, the obfuscation, the mysteries of your story…I loved it.

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