I don't usually publish ten minute posts. But.
It’s been an awfully peaceful day. The rain is splashing
on the large window in my room. It’s a very gentle sound – the sound of water
sprinkling lightly. It’s not stormy; it’s rather graceful – the way the drops
are falling. For some reason, it reminds me of a lady dancing – spinning on her
toes, twirling and swirling under a ceiling imprinted with tiny glittering
stars.
Since I’m at it, I thought I’d share something with
everyone – a few days back a couple of friends and I went to explore this dark neighborhood.
I could say it was really exciting – but then again that is another story and
it won’t find a place in this post. What I wanted to talk about was the place.
Houses – lots and lots of isolated houses strewn across a
park. There were old houses, new houses, neat houses and dilapidated houses. Some
of them had gates laid wide open, as if openly inviting the night into their
chambers. Some of them had dim lights on their porches. Some of the top floors
were flooding with light; some of them lay as silent as the dead. I’d like to
know who lived in this quiet neighborhood, just so I could ask them what it
felt like to live in the middle of complete serenity – or rather a peace which
haunted the inside of your brain to the point that it unnerved you.
The next time I go touring the neighborhood, I’d like to
sit and write about the other sights. There is beauty in darkness and a certain
aura of mystery in a place which is so desolated. I’d like to find out more
about it.
Anyways, on a completely related note - I suggest this poem called
The Listeners by Walter de la Mare. It reverberates my present thoughts perfectly.
Credits: tnousy on deviantart
