broken tales from an enchanted prisoner of the dark
I am chasing away my shadow, or is it my shadow chasing me away? We never really talk, my shadow and I. The silence we share is one of incomprehension, neither of us understands the other, yet we are bound together unless we free ourselves from our captor, this light.
We run, dreaming of deliverance in the dark, where we don’t see each other. The night’s an enchantress and I, an enchanted prisoner of the dark. Unburdened by light, I ride into the night, into its open arms.
A bus stop, new and shiny, seats in rows of 4,5, and 6. I sit there before midnight, and usher in the moment of a nation’s tryst with its destiny, without meaning to. There’s the usual caravan of lights, red and yellow and blue. An awkward little slipper, once a petite woman’s right foot’s guard, lay abandoned in a puddle. Perhaps she was rushing into a bus, and lost her slipper while climbing in, wading through the rush. Or a Cinderella perhaps?
She would ‘light’ up, facing the breeze. I don’t smoke, but I’d struggle too, helping her find the ‘light’. Not that that helped anyone.
I am on a treasure hunt, out and about in the night, hunting for poetry in the dark, chasing buses and shared autos, soaking spirits in the rains. It’s time I wade my way through the puddles the rains left, but the roads, once potholed, I now see are fixed and smooth. There are no puddles to wade through.
The djinns are never far away, though, even in faraway places. We talked to them, and they said they are lonely, and that they would appreciate some company. So we stayed, went to Tim’s, chatted over coffee and hot chocolate. We rode into the night. We chased away the light.
I am tired. Will the night sing me a lullaby, and take me into dreams? Preferably someone else’s.