By Mir Umar
As I was walking in the alleys, in the midnight, leading to my fairy home, I was quite a spectator. Streets were deserted; only me and my loneliness were wandering through those alleys. The street lights posed a threat when the light shone on my face. The night had spread its garments and nobody could be seen on the streets.
Only I was supposed to be there.
The darkness of night became an obstruction to my journey. When I reached near my house, I saw the beautiful white moon hiding behind the trees. The blush of twilight moon was now the only source of light for me.
Upon seeing it, I remembered her.
The beautiful light on the surface of the moon was reflecting her face on it. The light was just like her beauty. Now, I could feel her presence through the light of the moon.
Watching the moon continuously, only created a painful feeling inside my heart. When seeing that delightful moon, it reminds me of that moment when I first saw her. In the mixed crowd of people, she was looking beautiful and her beauty could shine the darkness.
That moment and feeling was repeating inside my heart. Intrinsically, my heart was continuously weeping.
In the moment, I found my shelter. It just not came as a hope but as a gloomy feeling.
Shadows too left me when I was in darkness. Opening the door of my home was just like closing the connection with rest of the world. It was complete silence and there was darkness all around. No light in my room. Almost the same happened with my crazy heart. The darkness of separateness darkened the world of my heart.
Once, my youthful heart was only source of inspiration but now inspiration had fled from my heart. The tears have affected it thoroughly. It surprises me when it weeps; it affects my soul and body.
Now, when I am at home, my soul is wandering through the mountains and sky to feel her presence and letting my lonely body to suffer. The heart only replicated her colorized sketches upon which my eyes become tearful.
I lit up the kerosene lamp and took my diary and sat down for writing my experience. But it was all over to my heart now.
When I have to write something, a strong feeling rejuvenates inside me. I was a self portrait at that time. Not a single word was pouring out from my heart , letting my pen’s ink becoming wet. The only thing I was imagining at the time of loneliness was my captured moments of her which were repeating after certain intervals. I was completely lost in my deep thoughts. When I found my presence, I was in my room with kerosene lamp producing small rings of smoke. Yet a single word was not written on the paper. Finally, my heart went back from the past to the present. The present was too heart breaking and my soul could not find any reason for happiness. Tears were rolling down in spite of the words. Those sharp tears were injuring my heart making it bleed continuously. The dreams too got interpreted by the miserable feeling of emotions. My eyes had become sunken from those sleepless nights and now they reject to pour out tears.
Now, almost every night was gloomy which had only tears and cries as reminders. Outside, the night was ruling the world and inside my heart was sitting on the throne. The crazy heart continued to injure my feelings through those moments, making it bleed. In the meantime, I heard the chirping sound of birds and strong light of sun stroked my eyes. The whole night I failed to put my words on paper. The reason is My Heart. Between the night and morning stood my heart which want to go over the mountains and have a slight look at her. The heart is the thing in our body that one cannot force to do anything but it can force you to do everything. It holds up the throne of the whole body and enjoys a strong power inside. For poets, it act as a tool for their poetry and for writers it act as their only weapon. For different people it holds different powers. But Alas! How crazy and selfish it is. When I look upon her now, it just reminds me of those dark nights. Once my heart was crazy to see her, but now it holds me back from her. That’s why, my soul calls it a crazy heart.
—Mir Umar is a student of Comparative Literature. He can be reached at: email@example.com