a daylight dream

When I asked about the hibiscus flower, I was enmeshed and engraved in disillusionment, watching fingers point at pale, scarlet delicate petals. I knew it was a dishonest name for a flower, for the tea I drank on winter nights did not possibly appeal to such delicacy When time passed and I happened to come across the real one; cruel, shrivelled, reserved, painted in deep burgundy— I knew it was it what touched my lips so cunningly. I knew it was this kind of cruelty that dissolves in the love of boiling water, it couldn’t be anything else. Beings on this gorgeous earth seem to have the signature of their essence upon their form. And like the hibiscus, I must be. I wonder if one can recognise my essence from how my eyes shine when they grow towards the sun, and how I become feathery and lightweight in the face of ancient love, and how my face crumples when all is so beautiful and wondrous. I hope all these tell honest stories about me.

One needs not proof for the language of God in the entirety of the universe’s existence. Despite His divine silence, how is there so plentiful to interpret? Honestly, it is a turmoil to fill my head with more to listen to than the music of the earth as winter falls off the precipice of its orbit. It’s a turmoil to need more proof than already is abundantly existent. I pray to need less, everyday. I forget my prayer, forgive it, and pray again. With less, i unburden my shoulders with the heaviness and realise I’ve had wings of a butterfly. With less, I soar through the magnificence of a sunlit sky. The less I need, the more it seems I have always had everything.

I dream of gardens all the time. The greenery, the stretched silence that is not exactly silent, harmonious melodies buzzing amidst life’s gentlest reciprocities. I dream of being close to one every time I ponder upon being close to myself, which I assume, is an abundance of ‘ time ’s. How it befuddles me what it feels like when I lose myself by the trees. When it is mid-spring and the silk floss trees are groomed in emeralds sparkling against cinematic clouds. I imagine what it would be like if my life was closely intertwined with one garden— my hands in its dirt, fingers closely wrapped around a handful of seeds, digging into the ground, spraying it with water and pruning the wilted parts. I imagine what it would be like to stand bare feet almost every day on its ground, or cross-legged under a friendly shadow. It would be the perfect kind of aloneness, for I always have conversations in such a kind of solace. Conversations with dreams and reveries to come to life too soon, or maybe ...

It’s time again to see the essence ‘neath the facade of what begins before us. The coal-black skies and lifeless frames that were once budding trees and ripening fruits are but temporary situations, brought about since the very beginning of summer. The eyes tremble before the very thought that what I see this moment is not true as it is deep within. Waking up early is a blessing for I can witness the unfolding of dawn, and I can see for real that this darkness has no identity by itself. There is always a mirror image of wondrous, spectacular light that reflects the darkest hours. Perhaps this is what winter is here to show me so compassionately, it is never as it seems. The uncertainty, doubt and harshness are only the other sides of the coin— it is followed by the truest dawn, the most spellbinding kind of light that makes you forget how it was like to be so insecure. Winter is but a spring in action, and so the harshness before me is but the fleeting absence of life, and it will soon...

Oh, how thrilled I am for the onset of summer! I don't know what has happened to me all of a sudden. As soon as May set in, it's like my childlike spirit came back to me, making me laugh in the rarest occasions, bubbling within me the most endearing excitement for the thought of a new day. It's quite beautiful. I'm so grateful for summer. I attest that summer is not for much thinking. It's detestable to stay locked in my thoughts for a moment too long when the day is teeming with youthful energy and the heat is searing through the glass windows. It's a time to be one with everything. A time to experience, to sense, to live and laugh and love. It's a time to reduce the plans into flights of dreams so intricate that they land to the ground, to become practically sound and doable. With the longer days, I feel I have a variety of things to do, even when my day is packed. It's a time to get creative and loud with bold newness, no matter how silly it may be. I...

There is an unquenchable thirst for the undoing of all the knots that have been tied long ago; knots of limitations and maddening, low ceilings that call for being broken, for there is an ever-expanding world of mysteries out there, and I want to explore it all, if not through my feet, then with my bare, open heart. It's spring after all, since February is here. I have been secretly leaving the house for morning walks, sneaking into the garden and making sure no one can see me as I smile ridiculously with my chin up to the sky, resisting the temptation to twirl around and dance. I crouch down in the strangest positions to greet the young patches of grass that I hadn't seen before and walk towards the mulberry trees for a warm hug. Spring is music to my ears, a well-orchestrated dance of life, giving and receiving love in a distinct language only souls can comprehend. Spring crawls to my very bones. It bewitches me in every way. I believe the splendour is in watching every day b...

It took this moment just a bend in the road, a little perfect visualisation of a road-less-travelled-by, to get to a breeze which reminded me of a fresh, mine of earth. The wind swept the sounds to my ears, rustles of leaves and stems sliding over each other, and all of a sudden, I can be true to the world; grateful and grounded, resilient to all changes. And here I can readily close my eyes to be at peace with whatever is. I can try to make intentions to be the best person I can be everyday, although it’s formidable to live up those expectations and be the ideal cloud of dreams that I carry everywhere. But all of this doesn’t matter. You’re here, carrying above you a rainbow of ideals that I love to see. Even with my eyes closed, I feel you there, your hands entwined around mine, feeling our distance multiply by halves of halves and further till we can syncopate the experience of being human together. Till we can see the exact spectrum inside of our heads — and it’s beaut...

You put your head on the soft pillow, face sullen and pale, hair stiff and coarse. The room is humid and stale, its air filled with old fragrances that have lived seasons after seasons, till it had lost sense of time, something an old lady would lament about. The curtains are drawn but I know, that with just a swish, the room may come to life. So, I leave your head on the pillow, gracefully gravitated with misery and hopelessness, and I stand up, taking swift steps towards the window. As my fingers grasp the curtains, my arm moves to the side and the sight of a full-bellied moon greets our eyes. It is mildly coloured like a diamond, its light is subtle yet overflowing. And though it's dark at night, the room somehow gets illuminated by the moonlight's presence. It's enough. It's more than we could ever ask for. Your head tilts to the right and eyes gaze lovingly towards the moon. I look at you and wonder how much you still need to know about our world. ...

On the night of the 27th of July 2018, a beautiful occurrence met our Earth: the lunar eclipse, the longest eclipse in the 21st century. It was the very first time for me to see one, with a bright awareness and sheer love for the universe. I didn’t get to see the eclipse from the start, since it was below the horizon. I spent the night in the balcony, with gracility, expecting the glossy arrival of our moon. All at once, a shadow appeared, with a reddish hue on the left-hand side. It took my by surprise, to see the moon looking so different, to witness a phenomenon so natural and reigned by the truthful secrets of the universe. I spent most of the night watching the moon regaining its silvery fullness, feeling my heart swell after it had been tightened with its shadowed disappearance. It swelled with gratitude and awe; my sister by side, speaking in terms of poetry. The moon was adorned by Mars and its companions; Saturn, Jupiter and Venus. There were countless satellite...

  It’s already the end of June, and what a congenial month it had been. It drifted lithely, challenging me to find new ways to be myself. The past six months have been quite productive and bustling; a pounding heart full of love, hope and optimism as well as a mind challenged with responsibilities and fears. I must say that I’m grateful for everything that has been, it’s been all profoundly impacting and looking back, I just can’t decipher I had witnessed so much magic. June was the month in which the little universe around me decided to thrive in all directions. Perhaps we all try to thrive and become better versions of who we are by being more loving and intuitive. However, I realised that we could also try to experiment swerving towards different roads of growth and fulfilment. I thought of it myself, as I started to feel so overwhelmed by passion and fiery intuition. I decided to calm down and embrace the distance. It was different at first, but I enjoyed it im...

Even though airplanes must signify the aura of unseen adventures, they particularly feel like home, like safety, like time to rest and do nothing but observe out of the window. My seat is the kingdom in which I situate all of my smiles and dreams. The plane takes off as it is dark and the moon smiles at me lovingly, already waning in its everlasting cycle. There’s a star attached to it in some orbital manner I cannot quite comprehend, but I’m sure it’s mystic and it means something— and it’s beautiful. The airplane takes off, liberating me as I soar in my viewpoints. It is quite different to see the realm from up above, a certain change in perception occurs that allows divergent thoughts to take shape and I  rest — I just do. I forget all about the world and just let observance reign my state of mind. My whole existence is based upon the sense of  seeing , and only that. I spend the hours looking from the window, the darkness evolving bit by bit as the morning ...

As June drifts in unmistakable tranquility, I cannot help but observe how different the world is at this time of the year. To be honest, it’s the first time for me to feel the summer deeply, eyeing the miscellaneous minor changes stuck in the atmosphere, as the day gets longer. I used to believe summer was all about relentless pleasure and bustling activity, but I no longer do. Summer is the ideal picture of calmness: the oddly glistening blue skies, occasional clouds lumbering in the prolonged afternoons, trees all ripe and richly green, as well as those late flowers cluttering the streets, dried up from the brassy sun’s heat. I like to watch it all while I walk, trying to find resemblance and meanings.  There is ample time in summer, perhaps that’s why it’s an opportunity to slow down a little and take advantage of the early sun rays and late dusks. A chance to feel helplessly present as time passes by, letting go of future-worries. It’s a time to feel blessed by...

I wonder what the greenery stretched across our beloved earth speaks of, in languages we cannot comprehend. We see the flowers lithely blooming in and leaves sprouting in emeralds and brightness in spring, watch them create this subtle force of beauty that inspires its observers. Yet, we are oblivious. We cannot see everything. I imagine the dainty flowers unfolding their petals in the morning, conversing with the light and the beams surrounding it. Perhaps they talk to the sun, wishing it could come closer, to infuse its warmth more dearly. Perhaps those petals yearn for the light’s gentle tangible touch, to spark its colours and vibrancy. But do they know if the sun came a little bit closer, they’d shrivel and burn? Do they know that longing to grow taller and taller just to reach the sun’s sky would weaken them? I imagine the trees at night conversing in melancholy. Perhaps they do not like the darkness yet have to go through it every single day. For them,...