Melancholia

Its a cold night. Very cold. And my feet are getting numb. I dont think I can feel my toes anymore. My hands are shivering. My shoulders tremble.

There is a stillness in this night. Quiet. Almost fearful. And I can feel it in the darkness around me.

There is a dog barking in the neighbour’s yard. I don’t know, will that bring another earthquake?

The silence falls down like snow in this room. Deadening everything, every source of sound. Not even a moth flutters on this table lamp. Not even a moth.

This is not yet spring. Not even winters. We are still waiting for the snow. For hope, in this dark winters. Its been four days since the sun has come up. Everything is grey and Srinagar is so, so dark now.

Will we ever come out of this?

Will we ever move out of this darkness. And the frosty pale light of this , I ask the few sighs that escape, how does spring feel? A bloom of hundred thousand roses, they say. A bloom of hundred thousand roses.

But not tonight. Tonight, the dew has frozen on my lips and everything in death is turning pale.

It seems so close.

 

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Author: Rich Autumns

Blogger from Kashmir. Twitter: @RichAutumns

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