Some Kind of Anodyne

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Nightmares do. That, or the umpteen thoughts buzzing ceaselessly in my head, giving birth to strange, twisted stories in black and white. I imagine that if I can keep running, even if only in my mind...if I can watch the miles disappear behind me, then perhaps, just perhaps, I might disappear too.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

It would please me to leave my memories behind, but my mind wrestles with itself, trying hard not to think about them, but trying equally hard to remember, to keep them alive. It’s an experiment in pain. I choose silence over words; words take the attention away from assessing the extent of damage. Silence controls it well. Where no explanation is required, silence heals what words never could.

I wonder if solitude chooses a precious few, or metes out similar degrees to all. I stand alone, and yet blend well into the vast multitude of those who seem to have it all together. And then, a doubt; is this multitude putting on a façade too? I do not necessarily want to know.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

Sometimes, I imagine others like me, trapped in the confines of their doubt and recurring thought, but I am at times, selfish in my seclusion. I would share, but chances are, a part of me will be misunderstood, or even judged. But then again, in rude contrast, sometimes, all I want is for someone to understand, and to accept.

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

A luminary clock against the sky

And time...

I am willing it to move faster, to hasten my step forward, to take me away from this time and place, sooner. And if time is, like they say, the best healer, will there or won’t there be a day when none of this will matter anymore? Not to me, not to you...

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

And yet, I’m stuck in a moment, unable to detach from the past, and unable to move forward. I try, to honour what was, to respect what is, and to accept what will never be.

I walk. I run. I stumble. I fall. But I pick up the pieces, and keep going, because at some point, I know that the night I am acquainted with, will eventually surrender me to the light. And though the sun will continue to cast shadows, I will turn towards the radiance, and force the shadows behind me.

(In italics, ‘Acquainted with the Night’, a poem by Robert Frost, that has stayed with me ever since I chanced upon it.

In regular text, my mindless rambling, which I do not expect anyone to derive any sense from. It was in my head. Now it’s here. Soon it will be in the trash.)