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A walk through the meadow

Last time I remember, I was into a deep sleep with shallow dreams, something drifted underneath as I was awake with the world asleep.

I went somewhere with a bottle of beer & luckily a packet of cigarettes accompanied me. I remember going through a meadow of flowers that I’d thought of dreaming about paradise. I was struggling in a fuzzy heat soaring gradually, yet there it was all pleasant as spring with a sense of healing as acquainted with autumn. I continued walking all along the flowery path leading to nowhere it seemed it was a long very long walk through the meadow!

I was alone but not lonely the day, the night, those flowers, birds, my sadness, my rugged life, my walk, sleep, dreams it somehow belonged to me. I was quite taken aback by the grandeur of my consciousness as the world was sleeping I was walking in the very same timeline, yet freed from time. I don’t remember how long I trudged on, I do remember a turn which led to a river where day turned into the deep, dark and a drunk night. It was a usual night but the sky was clearer than I’d seen, the moon was there and so was twilight so were stars yet they felt to exist in their pursuits. I can’t romanticise them if you ask me.

The river was moving with a silhouette transcending from a gargantuan mountain to a silence in the night, so captivating as turning known faces into strangers and strangers into strangers, you’d remember .

A boat was waiting for me to go down the valley to a place I suppose nowhere, I wanted to get in yet the meadow was calling me to get along.

As a child I’d love the sunrise when sanguine sheen scattered all over the gigantic hills, my curtains would light up, tiny dust particles would dance in some bewilderment engulfed in a joy of living with its own yet accepting someone’s aid.

I’d grow perturbed over not the sunset but thereafter when the dark would come, a heaviness would reign over, some creepy creatures would try to muzzle your heartbeat, when sleep would be a struggle & dreams would scare you.

Then slowly as time passed and started approaching epochs or eras of this & that, I grew closer to the night, it started telling me stories that day light wouldn’t, it started to accept me as if what I’d inside was common to all with a little varied  intensity & frequency.

I started living with the dark, daylight would put me into  sleep & the dark would awake me to eternity, I am not friends with stars or moon they are too overrated I’m with the silence of the night.

But there I chose the light, I didn’t barge into the boat, I returned to the long walk through the meadow.

 To the long walk through the meadow…. . .


Published by Shiwangi Sharma

I think of being creative & Think again and something like that. A heavy dreamer, A dreamer who's battling to become a doer, someday I hope! Silent observer, ramble in my head, tennis 🎾aficionado but not a crazy fan either, Reading & a little less often writing are my things! More funny than I sound, if that makes any sense? Clear skies & sunsets, love stars but not moon, it's overrated.

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