Rainy Night
It's a rainy night.
Torrents pour down mercilessly outside, as if heaven is trying to scrub away all the sadness and misery and rotten-ness in the world. A baptism of sorts.
And here I am at home. I'm watching the purging process through my window. But the rain does not get to me, and I'm missing out on the baptism. I watch as the stench of sadness is washed away - from the outside world - but within the shelter where it's supposedly "safe" the stench couldn't be worse.
I am so thirsty. If only some of the rain would kiss my lips and water the parched wounds, maybe it would be better.
I'm online but my messenger is in offline mode. I don't feel like talking tonight. I'm checking my mail every 5 minutes to see if the registrar has sent updates with regards to the transfer process.
The only mail I get is spam.
I think I shall sleep.
Maybe it might rain in my dream. Then maybe I can run beneath the showers of the sky and shout out loud, competing with the thunderous orchestra of raindrops pelting the earth, punishing it. And like a blackhole, the emptiness within will swallow everything, hoping to find something to fill it out.
But a blackhole will be a blackhole. It is on a neverending quest to find fulfilment, yet cursed from the start never to find it. And upon realisation, it will wail out loud, a cry of absolute anguish. And its voice will become one with the rain, its tears lashing out in anger at the earth, against the whole rotten-ness and despair.
And maybe, by the time the Orchestra is done with its Sorrowful Symphony, the world as we know it will be covered with a sheet of water; a mirror reflecting the joyful laughter of the Sun.
And it sings about the dawn of a new Day.
Torrents pour down mercilessly outside, as if heaven is trying to scrub away all the sadness and misery and rotten-ness in the world. A baptism of sorts.
And here I am at home. I'm watching the purging process through my window. But the rain does not get to me, and I'm missing out on the baptism. I watch as the stench of sadness is washed away - from the outside world - but within the shelter where it's supposedly "safe" the stench couldn't be worse.
I am so thirsty. If only some of the rain would kiss my lips and water the parched wounds, maybe it would be better.
I'm online but my messenger is in offline mode. I don't feel like talking tonight. I'm checking my mail every 5 minutes to see if the registrar has sent updates with regards to the transfer process.
The only mail I get is spam.
I think I shall sleep.
Maybe it might rain in my dream. Then maybe I can run beneath the showers of the sky and shout out loud, competing with the thunderous orchestra of raindrops pelting the earth, punishing it. And like a blackhole, the emptiness within will swallow everything, hoping to find something to fill it out.
But a blackhole will be a blackhole. It is on a neverending quest to find fulfilment, yet cursed from the start never to find it. And upon realisation, it will wail out loud, a cry of absolute anguish. And its voice will become one with the rain, its tears lashing out in anger at the earth, against the whole rotten-ness and despair.
And maybe, by the time the Orchestra is done with its Sorrowful Symphony, the world as we know it will be covered with a sheet of water; a mirror reflecting the joyful laughter of the Sun.
And it sings about the dawn of a new Day.
February 23rd, 2008 at 1:12 pm All the best