Clouds

They say every cloud has a silver lining. I am still trying to find mine. Right now it seems, for me there’s just a wall. A wall of dark grey clouds. Bleak. They also say, the greater your storm, the brighter your rainbow. But how can you even fathom a rainbow when you are trying to keep your storm at bay. It’s just  around the corner, threatening to crash over you, but you don’t have the guts to round that corner and face the storm. Despite knowing that a storm is inevitable now, you just can’t bring yourself to face it and be done with it.

I know, it is the fear that is holding me back. The fear of loosing something, something far too precious. Because once the storm hits, nothing will be in my control. I might end up loosing something truly precious.

Sometimes I feel I have accepted my fate and perhaps I have come to a stage  where crying and despair is behind me and I am finally beginning to accept things. But the next moment my mind goes back to rejection of  circumstances, which are beyond my control. The crying and despair returns, and I am heartily sick of it.

I am sick of checking my expression every time I appear in front of someone. Sick of masking the catch in my voice, of speaking through constricted throat, holding back the tears that threaten to spill over for no apparent reason, of swallowing every sob that threatens to escape my throat.

I am tired of standing tall when all I want to do is to crumble and cry my eyes out. My dementors  are closing on me but every happy memory that come to my mind is like a shard of glass, tearing me from within.

I know  one day the storm will pass and sun will shine. The flowers will bloom and spring will come. But that is far from today. For the spring to come, I will have to face the storm. Face my inner demons.

Okay guys, let me confess. There is nothing wrong with my life. Nothing at all. This is something that came to my mind one fine morning. The words were just bouncing around in my head, falling over themselves to be freed from the confines of my mind. So I just typed them out.

When I was in school, poems would fascinate me.  At the age of fifteen, poems like The Night Wind by Emily Bronte, Excelsior by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Lord Ullin’s Daughter by Thomas Campbell, Death The Leveler by James Shirley fascinated me no end. I always tried to find the meaning of these poems. Bugged my teachers  to explain these poems to me. The more complex the poem was, more the happier I would be.

We, as human beings have some strange fascination of  sorrow, pain, hurt. Technically we actively try to protect ourselves from these very emotions. But they continue to fascinate us. These very emotions are a poet’s best friends. They are a writer’s dream. These emotions have been romanticized by hundreds of poets. As Percy Bysshe  Shelly, in his poem To A Skylark, rightly says,

 We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Despite being written about a hundred thousand times, themes like pain, despair, loss have not lost their charm. They continue to inspire poets. Tears, in real life are  ugly and are fraught with numerous practical problems like red eyes, smudged mascara.  A girl crying in films looks very appealing but in real life she looks appalling. Boys tend to run away from girls who cry unlike their filmy counterparts.

But when written about, tears are very very romantic. The greater the pain described, the more the romantic it is and better the words sound. Pain, when described in words, sounds very impressive.

I don’t know why we have this strange fascination for these themes, but it is there.

 

 

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