The Lost Battle
The night is a cynical harlot. It plays on the affairs of the heart and mind. It brews confusion. It is a catalyst to one’s existential crisis. It brings out the best in me and the worst. The lullaby of the night, sounds like the siren of an ambulance or a fire engine. It probably wants to warn me of something. But of what? I sit and stare at walls trying to pore over all the aspects of my life in an attempt to interpret the siren. After all, what is it that is keeping me up?
It’s not long before I open up pandora’s box and chaos comes in a full show of joy and splendour. I sometimes wish I had the ability to forget. The memories that pop up are not ones where happiness had prevailed. The more efforts I make to think of something good, the more it is in vain. Why, night? Why? I’ve been your best friend since I can remember. Why do this to me? My worst insecurities are baring their canines in full glory.
What is it about this wretched darkness? Is it the silence that makes me hear the dance of my loneliness? Is it the lack of a full — fledged conversation that makes me want to listen to the night instead? Sleep evades me, humour disinterests me. I’m left with the pitter-patter of tear drops for company. With no strength to fight and no will to reason, my head is a myriad of dark hues, with a meaning to each. Gradually words start to form. I finally start to understand them.
The dark hues represent the aspects that float around one’s existence. With lies, deceit, revenge, fight, war, battle, selfishness, violence, arrogance, hatred and egotism among others, so common and prevalent, my simple plea for the truth to be heard can be misconstrued as playing victim. I seek no answers; I can find my own. I seek no redemption; karma’s alive. I seek no acknowledgement; facts need none.
What I yearn for, is a ear to hear. A non-judgemental, open- hearted ear. The simplest things are the hardest to find. Though friends are the strength, there is only so much their ears can extend. The deepest fears and toughest choices are saved for a few. What does one do when the chosen few misinterpret and misjudge? Where does one go when the chosen few brush your feelings and emotions aside as if it were part of a trivial ‘drama’? Who does one turn to when the chosen few break promises and justify it?
The search for the ear has been abandoned. For now, pain is the only constant. Everything fades away and I seem to have no control over it. I get into my bed and pull the sheets over me. I close my eyes tight, longing for some sleep. I let go of everything I held dear. I let go of the moments I cherished, because I can no longer value it the same. I let go of every ounce of strength I have, it means nothing with none to share. Sleep creeps in with all the mental exhaustion. The chaos calmly disappears with its last message for me: This too shall pass.
