residential terrazzo flooring installation
3 years ago
Mar 3, 2013
Streets at Night
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 8:16 PM
Think of yourself as a figure on a street -
Dressed smartly to combat the wind
With a brisk stride to get home faster
The silence of night is deafening.
Streetlights illuminate your path
But there is a stretch
An awkward distance between their circles of light
Where the darkness almost consumes you.
It's in the midst of that darkness
That the heart decides to beat faster
Breath decides to come shorter
And swear starts to ooze from the pores.
There are shadows everywhere;
Houses with strange noises and bursts of noise
Hallucinations of footsteps and bad intentions
But in the light they seem to fade.
Every now and then, there's a shorted streetlight
And the darkness stretches to what seems like an infinite distance
An untraversable river of unpredictability
But you walk because running would be admitting you are scared.
But what happens if you feel a hand on your shoulder?
Or there isn't a streetlight for miles to guide your path?
Or the shadows become unnatural and mobile?
Or the the noises become deafening?
Or you lose yourself to the racing heartbeat, short breath and bullets of sweat?
There's something about those shadows and those hallucinations
And those stretches where the light dims
That evoke a feeling of doom so powerful and so potent
The slightest trigger could set you screaming.
Oct 30, 2011
Her head is seconds away from exploding.
There's a perilous pressure pushing persuasively
On her fragile cranium, eating up all the space inside
Flooding every unoccupied air bubble
With it's distastefully pressurizing presence;
There's a throbbing again her eye,
A pulsating, persistent push
That's threatened to prick her tear ducts
Until she cries.
And there's the truth, looming like a ghost
Over her shoulder, intimidating and irritable;
Her tears could draw away the pain
Like an ice pack relieves a fervent fever.
But if she cries, she knows
Her heart will collapse upon itself
Like a house with foundations that were never stable.
And so the eternal dilemma -
Pain for pain,
There is never relief.
There is a drought somewhere,
And frail bodies are walking helplessly under the sun,
Willpower and survival skills being their unfortunate saviour.
There is a girl who's trust in safety
Has been violated due to crimes inflicted upon her.
There is an innocent, wide eyed child
Struggling for breath under the rubble and heavy burden of an earthquake.
But when your own mind becomes a pressure cooker
Fed with the distasteful pressures of society,
And it is as if only a drill through the brain
Or a violent display of instability
Could relieve the throbbing ache.
Here is a pain more potent.
;;
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