The night embraced the twilight
and plunged into a pitch dark valley with absolute termination of sounds. She
drifted into slumber only to see what she had foreseen all her life. Ever since
she was an infant, she wanted to hurtle into the sky and be known as one of
those birds or airplanes that traverse celestially. As a child, she wanted to
jump and clutch the light that the chandelier on the ceiling emitted. As a
girl, she only wanted to seize the empire, the universe. As a lady, she wanted
to empower the kingdom, one step at a time. And now, as a woman, she knew what
she was worth. But what irked her most was the meaningless redundancy attached
to any and every process in the world at present.
She does want to blink again,
emerge into wakefulness, widen her eyes and absorb come what may. But in a
kingdom that makes sense linguistically, holistically, and socially.
When daybreak appears, she wants
to grasp the shades that spiral her breath into a trance and blooms her smile,
radiates her mind, reverberates her soul and fashions her pragmatism.
When moonlight emerges, she wants
to be the one to eye the depth of luster through her naked eyes.
But what holds her behind? What
keeps her afar from destination?
It’s a maze, where she is
waywardly moving in a labyrinth. Albeit she is bereft of a vehicle that
mechanizes her movement, she is still commuting in between the state of being
in between. While she is at it, she is rotating in a spineless spiral.
It’s funny that a woman who
confronted a halo every now and then is now steering in spiral. It is funnier
because someone who has not believed in the much perceived norms of nature and
society is now twirling in a coil of the preamble of those very preconceived
notions.
While she wants to swish all
those tall buildings and bridges and flyovers into fire, she is hurdled by the
very structure she is living in—a structure that has defined her for so long. In
fact, not only a structure but a regulating body.
As she continues to emerge in
kip, or shares a slight semblance to observing any euphemism close to it, the
world only gets wilder. Wilder, not in terms of atmosphere, but in terms of
measuring time.
Time: has uncontrollably flown,
faster than the waves of the ocean, and thundered louder than the clouds.
However, besides the passage of
time, what uncovered while her eyes were shut was not what she had foreseen.
She foresaw a kingdom where rules
would be first tested, and then implemented. She envisaged an edifice of rituals,
customs, morals, ethics, and laws strengthening the nucleus.
She envisioned an institution,
with proper hierarchical supremacy and justice to prevail.
She predicted a world that did
not disintegrate but integrate finality and meaning, instead of meaningless
redundancy of cosmic coincidences.
While she still devoted in slumber, she did not want to
awake to a kingdom that would be flawless; instead worthwhile.
In her castle of cards picketers still conformed to evil,
and pilgrims still repented for their sins. Traffic lights continually glimmered,
and the signals were rendered crowded than ever. Nonetheless, she wanted to
embrace the confidence that contrived her to become a prodigy.
She awaited the rising sun, and then it to set every
evening. She anticipated the stars in their full luster, and then to see them
shine over her soul every night. She fancied the full moon and its sight, and
yearned for it every fourteenth twilight.
As much as she required the dawn to subserve, she also
wanted to drive out of the maze of chaos. As much as she longed for the
radiance of astral powers, she also wanted them to beget in the most systematic
of attitudes.
She wanted to perfect completion, not attain perfection in
fact. She coveted the kingdom to replenish through proper restoration of
hierarchy, but in fact did not want to be the selfish ruler of it.
She had the thirst to swish a flick not because she desired
so, but because she knew she was apt for it. She did not require the authority
to do so, but only etched for an invisible getaway of seraph. She was a prodigy.
She will set eyes on the red dawn and its opulence through mutiny
and revolution; not by an ordinary aurora.
She drowsed through slumber only to find an overbearing
doorway to the ordeal. But she would wake up just before the mountains
collapse, the sun explodes, the stars perish and the sky falls.
All these moments engaged in slumber are witness to her
conviction. Her grace will raise her to affix the collapsing mountains,
extinguish the exploding sun, preserve the perishing stars and withhold the falling
sky. No matter how far stretched this state of rest be, she will stir to become
what she is meant to be.
No sooner, she will rise to be the voracious voice of reason
unseen.
No sooner, she will rise to be the prodigy that she has
always been.
