4:18 PM
Samrat Babu Koirala
"I've spent ages hoping for sun to forget to comeback, hoping for
moon to win a battle, hoping that the pores in the sky will not heal back so
that stars can still reside on them."
Its 5 AM and people are now switching the lights on. The sun must be tying its shoe laces. The moon seems pretty tired from signaling the sailors the proper way, of radiating poems for poets, of providing romantic stuffs for lovers, dictating time to some cave men out there. The roosters signal their lungs to be ready. The plants are all ready for the sunlight and their chlorophyll is warming up. They are all prepared. They are all ready. For them its new start.
Its 5 AM and people are now switching the lights on. The sun must be tying its shoe laces. The moon seems pretty tired from signaling the sailors the proper way, of radiating poems for poets, of providing romantic stuffs for lovers, dictating time to some cave men out there. The roosters signal their lungs to be ready. The plants are all ready for the sunlight and their chlorophyll is warming up. They are all prepared. They are all ready. For them its new start.
But for me, the rays of sun on pupils does not fall
like feathers. It falls like jail bars. The sun crawls on my back leaving me
more colder than the freezing cold of the night. Take me back to the time when
moon resides, back to the time when its dark. Coz for me, its not a new start,
they are still moving. They are moving more quicker than ever and things tend
to fall apart in the presence of light. In the dark I am all alone and I feel
safe when I am alone, the ghosts hunt on days in crowds, not when you're alone and not at nights.
The ghost does not live inside the bed, nor does it live inside the head, it
lives somewhere in the crowd hidden and appears all of the sudden somewhere in
the laughter of the class when I say the wrong answer, somewhere in unanswered text messages, somewhere during the movies when I realize its not her warm hand I am holding onto but the damn popcorn, somewhere in the
newsfeed when I realize I wasn't called in one of my friend's birthdays. I've
spent ages hoping for sun to forget to comeback, hoping for moon to win a
battle, hoping that the pores in the sky will not heal back so that stars can
still reside on them.
But then again, how can I wish for something new when
my fists have always been closed like a frozen cascade refusing to get opened
and I am out there still asking for something to hold on to, when the truth is
that my hands have always been full. Full with all the gutter I want to get rid
of, full of all the people I don't like, full of memories I want to erase, full
of wrinkled jammed bones I wanna move. I want my hands to be free, free like
the wings of birds when they fly, free like the butterfly is free from being
caterpillar after ages in the suffocating cocoon, free like the hand of the painter moves on the canvas, free, free!!
So, no I am no longer looking at my calender like time
bombs made from the gutter I've collected which I want to get rid of. I've
always been so busy with filling things that I've forgotten to get rid of the
dust formed occasionally which now is suffocating me. Its time to loosen up and
let things go. So ring up the sun, will you? Yes, now I am ready!!
