The Window Sill

-

 

Rain as seen from the window. Photo courtesy.

The soft sheets of rain brings back memories of a time when she was alive, a time so far gone, overtaken by the insanity of her sentence on earth, overtaken by the departure of those she once lived for. The soft sheets offer no comfort, and there she weeps in disdain of the world. 

From one cloud to another, thunder rolls inside her empty head and the husk left behind by the many who broke her heart. She feels like a Messiah who died for nothing, the savior who was torn apart for a people that turned their faces away from him in his last breath, in the last throes of a vain death.

She remembers, bless her, she does, the demons of her past. Maybe she still is the nightmare that lurks deep in the evening sun. Maybe she still is the confusion in the order all around her. Maybe she is the chaos in the peace. Maybe she is the slave to the freedom all around.

There is nothing in the past and there is nothing in the present. The only life is that outside her glass house. God has not been kind to her. He poisoned her eyes and her heart. He spared her life but took away her sanity. He surrounded her with walls of solitude. Loneliness is power, she believed, but endless days at the windowsill taught her that it indeed was a curse.

 A swallow stops by the window and their eyes meet. She stares in disdain. “She’s free, how unfortunate” her lips mouth. She listens to the rough rasping from its throat. “Bless her, she can croak. If I were a bird I would have chosen to be a song bird.”

 

A swallow chirping. (courtesy)

Her right hand again crosses over to the left. That is the last touch she remembers. The previous longing and soothing feeling turned to dust, evaporated from her life and has never returned. Some doors, she knows, had better remain closed and paths forgotten.

Intersections of pain, bitterness and jealousy have driven her numb to everything and she does not know what she feels anymore. What is time but the enemy that ceased to be kind, a god that no longer listens?

There is no comfort in the wooden chair and darkening sky, and again she rises from the window sill. The cat rises in turn and rubs herself on her feet. She kicks the creature away and it bursts into a ball of feathers.

A smile crosses her chapped lips and blood spills out of the many cracks. Her mind is gone. She is surprised there was one in the first place. The dark shadow follows her to the dusty bed of the prison of her making. The door to the dreaded rooms shut with a sharp clink and the demons crawl down form the walls.

Yesterday it was scorpions. Today, she knows, will be full of snakes. Loneliness spends on the side of her bed.


 

 

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
If we must die If we must die, let it not be like cows in the slaughter, walking willingly into the bloodbaths, too meek to resist and too trusting to argue. Let us die like buffaloes in a lion chase or ants in a midday march. Let us die like termites in search of freedom in a hostile world. If we must die, let it not be like birds caught in storm or a deer by a hunter’s spear. Let it not be like foxes caught in traps or flies landing on fire. If we must die, let our death not be told to those with faint hearts and loud wails. Let it not be known by those women who know not to keep their mouth shut. Let it not be told to those frail and on the brink lest they tilt over. If we must die, let the news be hushed and kept silent. Let everyone be told that we refused to be vanquished, that the flame refused to be extinguished. Let them be told that it is not graves but a mound full of seeds and flowers. Lord, if we must die, let us waft out into your presence like sacred incense. Send a ch
Read more
-
Blandness Many times you have let it be, that anger has blinded your eyes and ire has taken over your life. You have embraced sorrow for so long, and you have stayed too long in your bed of grief, that you remember no more what it feels to be happy. You have ceased to live, and life has long left you. You were a bee, but you have long convinced yourself that you are a fly. Oh son, you have allowed death to rule your soul. You have allowed darkness to carry a sceptre, and declare itself king in the kingdom of your being. You have been chained to a post, by an imaginary rope, and you have been held back by your own fear, like a dog without a chain, but still lies around the chaining post. You have closed the doors and the windows and allowed the smoke to sail into your heart. You have broken all the mirrors because when you look at them you see not the scar on your face but that in your heart, but oh, they do not lie. Count not the graveyards lest they sprout outside in your yard. Do no
Read more
-
Where did you go? I am a walking carcass hoping for a wind strong enough to carry me away, a rain harsh enough to dissolve me into a lump of soil. If I could erase all these memories and go back to the days before I met you, I would. But how sad that I roll in torture during the night and burn during the day. Tell me, old friend, you who made me feel special and important, where did the wind take you? Should I cry for time that conspired against us or should I let you shoulder the burden? I have been reduced into a mess of tears and regret. I have lost my trust and my confidence, come to me, you who gave me strength and take me with you. Tell me I was dreaming and tuck me back to sleep. Smother me with the pillow so I will not wake from this, for what is life, when she that I adored and loved in equal measure walked out on me? Look at me now as I wade knee deep in mud and slime, look at me as I stretch my hands to take you back but oh how far away you are. Come messiah, before
Read more