Saturday, November 06, 2010
I stood alone.
Looking out my window now.
The sky is a murky orange, with swirls of vanilla
the brick red HDB flats seem dark brown in the darkness
puddles of water collect on the pathways of the park surrounded by the buildings
a thousand drops crashing into them, ripples in frenzy
as i watched, i reached my arms through the window grille, feeling the cold still air
a tiny zephyr passes by, i felt hair on the back of my palm bristle
i placed my forehead against the grille, skin turning numb from coldness
streetlights, they look like tiny illuminating balls hovering in the still air.
bursts of laughter could be heard from the nearby apartments, probably people celebrating Deepavali.
The sound of the droplets are getting lighter, softer and gentler. It's nothing more than a drizzle now.
The illuminating balls make the ground shimmer as though they were polished.
As i moved away from the window, the grille gives a metallic creak.
My head hurts. I laid on my bed, hoping that I may hop onto a dreamboat and drift off.
But I just laid there, I stared at the murky orange sky again, I realised that it had turned milky orange, I stared at the ceiling.
all this while, thoughts in a whirlwind, clashing, bombarding each other. Eye of the hurricane this is not.
This storm could last the whole night.
signing off.
Call Of The Wild at 11:41 PM