Wakefulness







Tonight, the sky is like the worn page of an old book. Yellow and soggy. Blotched with squiggles of grey clouds. Someone is burning dry twigs in their garden and plumes of smoke are reaching above, in white twists, spreading out willfully in the muggy night air. The street lamp is throwing suffused fire through its cracked glass shade, and a mongrel is curled beneath, on a tiny patch of grass, blissfully lost to its daily strife and scavenging.A pale blue light fills the bedroom. The soft hum of the air conditioner, breezy cool air. Complete quietness.
Yes.
But this fails to soothe. Sleep is the cold pebble in the center of my belly.
Tonight is one of those nights that comes with the dry eyed torment of wakefulness.
When instead of getting up and switching on the reading lamp, or surfing the channel, or walking into the kitchen and filling up a glass of warm milk, or reaching for a heavy dull book, until I fall asleep...I just allow the silence to fill my pores, reveling in the sweet torment of inertia, until dawn breaks and I remind myself that … “Tomorrow is another Day” *

*Gone With The Wind

Picture: Nazia
Location: Corbett 

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