The midnight, moonlit sky, regardless of all its virginity, white, and velvet imaginations, stares through the sparkle of many a stars, that have listlessly been carved out of a hapless bosom, into the madness of the stubborn, blazing loneliness sieving through its shrouded carcass. The dilemma is whether it should mourn the ugly solitude, or exult at the fact that its this fire of lonesomeness that lends it some attention; for when the fire dies down, all that is left is the midnight blue, and a forgotten existence.
The cold moonlight, resting passively upon the tallest woods, is suddenly shaken by the hustle in the ever so docile wind, and falls off the trembling leaves into the naked ground with a silent thud. Not a chance did the earth have to cover its breast, and the only at it could now savor grace was if something covered it. The surrounding flora shamelessly kept staring at it as if enjoying every bit of the sight, while the remorseless moonlight stayed put. An April sky could not have been more expressive.
Rumor was it that there had risen a mutiny in the ranks of the clouds, and the inexorable flow of the ruthless mutineers was building stronger by the passing moment. Many of its stars were killed in defending the never ending territory of the sky, and many had let their guards down. Every now and then, at far away places, the thunder of the dying fire could be heard and even seen, as a struggling adder that wriggles in the sandy terrain. The whistling of the wind was growing louder, in a frantic attempt to warn its fellows of the impending death. Not a moving soul dared to witness this unforgiving hatred, this implacable sadism. The infinite space had shut its eyes at this rape.
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This was something that the space could not parse. Was it rendered blind? Or had its eyes been shut permanently? No. The eyes were split wide open but there was not a vision to be seen, not a sound to beat on the eardrums; the fire of the sky, the grandest woods, the whistling wind, the cold, velvet mesh of the moonlight, all were gone and for good. Where was the earth? The heavy atmosphere signalled doom. And where had the trees gone? Where had the Moon vanished? How come there was no sky?
The earth was heavy with the load of all the wood, the breast had been covered by the corpse of all those who shamelessly stared at it while it cried for cover, the Moon was swallowed by the sinister clouds, the fire of the sky was doused by the relentless tears of a weeping earth, the stars were murdered in the rampage, the leaves which conspired against the earth when the shook off the moonlight, were beaten down to their graves, the wind that played the informer had to run away for its life, and the velvet moonlight was raped into roughness. The earth had the last laugh.
The attention seeking sky, was forced into its state of forgotten existence. What was the dilemma now? To mourn the forgotten existence, with no more illumination to share its presence with things earthly, or to exult at the fact that this state was not 'alone' his? That the lost sight of the world and the lost attention came with the oblivion of its existence?
****************************************************
With all this, I am successfully able to get my nephew to sleep, after three hours of useless appeasing. My dilemma is that should I rejoice at the fact that I told such a wonderful, chilling lullabye to get him to sleep, or that it was such a worthless exercise to even listen to it unintentionally, that he thought it was better to sleep?
The cold moonlight, resting passively upon the tallest woods, is suddenly shaken by the hustle in the ever so docile wind, and falls off the trembling leaves into the naked ground with a silent thud. Not a chance did the earth have to cover its breast, and the only at it could now savor grace was if something covered it. The surrounding flora shamelessly kept staring at it as if enjoying every bit of the sight, while the remorseless moonlight stayed put. An April sky could not have been more expressive.
Rumor was it that there had risen a mutiny in the ranks of the clouds, and the inexorable flow of the ruthless mutineers was building stronger by the passing moment. Many of its stars were killed in defending the never ending territory of the sky, and many had let their guards down. Every now and then, at far away places, the thunder of the dying fire could be heard and even seen, as a struggling adder that wriggles in the sandy terrain. The whistling of the wind was growing louder, in a frantic attempt to warn its fellows of the impending death. Not a moving soul dared to witness this unforgiving hatred, this implacable sadism. The infinite space had shut its eyes at this rape.
****************************************************
This was something that the space could not parse. Was it rendered blind? Or had its eyes been shut permanently? No. The eyes were split wide open but there was not a vision to be seen, not a sound to beat on the eardrums; the fire of the sky, the grandest woods, the whistling wind, the cold, velvet mesh of the moonlight, all were gone and for good. Where was the earth? The heavy atmosphere signalled doom. And where had the trees gone? Where had the Moon vanished? How come there was no sky?
The earth was heavy with the load of all the wood, the breast had been covered by the corpse of all those who shamelessly stared at it while it cried for cover, the Moon was swallowed by the sinister clouds, the fire of the sky was doused by the relentless tears of a weeping earth, the stars were murdered in the rampage, the leaves which conspired against the earth when the shook off the moonlight, were beaten down to their graves, the wind that played the informer had to run away for its life, and the velvet moonlight was raped into roughness. The earth had the last laugh.
The attention seeking sky, was forced into its state of forgotten existence. What was the dilemma now? To mourn the forgotten existence, with no more illumination to share its presence with things earthly, or to exult at the fact that this state was not 'alone' his? That the lost sight of the world and the lost attention came with the oblivion of its existence?
****************************************************
With all this, I am successfully able to get my nephew to sleep, after three hours of useless appeasing. My dilemma is that should I rejoice at the fact that I told such a wonderful, chilling lullabye to get him to sleep, or that it was such a worthless exercise to even listen to it unintentionally, that he thought it was better to sleep?
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