Spare me the rhetoric, the meaningless
diatribes.
She turns halfway from the
window, her gaze resting at the silhouetted hallway stretching before her.
Hear yourself. You are here, now…living,
breathing. Why must they forget?
A hand lies against the glass,
misty with the rain. Dark clouds sweep the skies, bathing the world beyond in a
permanent twilight.
See yourself.
Can you?
The chiffon folds flutter away in
the breeze, settling against her slender frame now and then.
How long will you run away for?
She stands still, keenly aware of
the quiet which surrounds her, the silence permeating into her very being,
You know who you are, don’t you?
The hand clenches against the
glass, belying the restlessness tearing through her…capable of shattering the
surface into a million fragments if it were a force of its own.
There is no other way of knowing the world.
Her gaze now settles at the sight
before her, taking in the cold yet invigorating picture that the clouds seemed
to be painting, enlivening her surroundings with that infallible sense of just being – the essence of being one with
the universe gnawing at her very core.
Burn those shackles down.
She thinks of fire. A
conflagration, raging and blazing its way through, tiny flames sparkling and dancing
in the wind. There was something about
elemental fury – water, fire, air, earth: so very essential to existence and
matter.
Is it a reflexion or a paroxysm?
Her imagination gives way to
mighty waves lashing over sands, only to shift to a raging storm kicking up
dust everywhere. So in tune with her conflicts…that mental turmoil, driving her
mad with equal parts exhilaration and agitation.
But you fight on, one battle after the other.
Even though they were fought in
the vivid landscape of her mind. Alter egos would spring to life, repressed desires
would come to the fore – each instance scripted as close to reality as possible
as if it could be brought alive in a parallel universe.
And realisations beckon you.
Her gaze is fixed at the play of
natural forces before her, while she continues to mould herself, dream by dream
into an instrument of expression, attuned to everything that is characteristic
of this world.
You have always sought creativity.
Coveted it to the point of vandalizing
her psyche, only to realize it lay in her hands, in her will and courage to be.
The world awaits your glory.
She steps beyond the glass walls,
breathing into the winds…dreaming of that fire setting her core aflame, alive.
