Tag Archives: night

Things I see and hear at night

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That scene was actually lovely. Not scary as the picture seems. My nights are like that!

Do you mean to tell me you are this old and don’t know this
You have not tasted of the spicy fruit
Those top-quality clinical-grade hallucinations
Which someone like me makes money off

I see shadows and forms
I see patterns
They speak to me these people
They tell me how life will be
They teach me wisdom and experience about existence
They teach me without using punishment
They understand me
And I hear them and listen
They teach me on my own terms
They speak with soothing voices
Like that of a virgin seductress
Good blend of innocence and sultriness
They tell me of the fragile nature of life
And of how beautiful it could be
Like a perfectly delicate thing of high value
Something as delicate as these visions themselves
Visions that could easily fade
And details that couldn’t be validated
Because they change every time I attempt to recollect them
Visions so beautiful and precious
Visions that will fade when I sleep
The beauty of that short moment of insanity that will fade
After all, beauty fades
They tell me so
These voices
They tell me beauty is temporary and fluctuating
They tell me nothing lasts forever
And I trust them because I have confirmed this in reality
And for this same reason
I also believe these same wise people
When they tell me that the neurons of my brain
All defaecate semisolid gold
And so I have to explore my mind and dig for treasures
Breaking through my rock-thick skull with a dagger
I believe them when they tell me
There is a generator working in my brain
And creative sparks fly everywhere from the neural activity
And where there is no electricity
I’ll let people connect wires to my skull
I believed them because they have proven true time and again
These same voices led me through medical school
All my good ideas have come in similar way
The voices tell me I am radioactive
They tell me I am alien
And so should not allow others see how unique I am
That I can find release by hiding in plain sight
Writing things like this
Things which could easily pass for just another regular dribble of a mad mind
And how I believe these voices
I love them
These wise people
They speak to me
In that place, that time
Between being awake and being asleep
Which some don’t know of, as old as they are
And they have never had it as real and magical
As I have them, as young as I am
These beautiful moments just before sleeping

P.S. Maybe it’s just the special ones like me who have these moments.

In Humble Tribute To Myself

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(I could only manage a shot at the house with my crappy phone camera lens.)

A long and dark road to the house at the end of the road…
Let’s pretend the house is called ‘soliteon’.

Without the use of grand words from my end to help you, just try to imagine the most extreme degree of solitude possible for a house. It is totally removed from the township. We stumbled across this piece that appears like a happy firefly in the distant night when our car broke down in “the middle of nowhere”. We trudged towards the dimly lit soliteon naturally hoping to find relief from the dead night. Tropical night, winds were blowing and rain was threatening as the clouds gathered. Some of us were so desperate we were prepared to evict the home owner if push came to shove.

(Who would blame them when humans naturally would more likely cut off a friend if (s)he was an extra weight than allow themselves be dragged down?)

I wonder though what they were thinking. Evict the owner, occupy soliteon till dawn, restore the owner with an apology, and just be off on their way… ? Do they think this is just another fiction?
Truth be told we were just seven strangers to any hermit who might be occupying that house and we weren’t sure (s)he’d take kindly to humans (s)he was living away from. But, a heavy tropical rain in the night of nowhere!?!

Peeking through a window, I, the only writer and most curious in the group, observed the lord of the soliteon who seemed like a

A very normal person as relaxed and comfortable in a house not structurally different from other houses internally.

There was no oddity or paucity of dressing, blank expression or deeply furrowed brows. His hair not a messy mass of twines. There was no beard like that of a wise old goat or long curved fingernails on this vicenarian. He apparently paid attention to pedicure too. And he was not dressed in leopardskin or humanskin.
Shame!

His chair was tilted backwards at a precarious angle as a heavy-duty headset probably boomed steadily into his ears. I wondered what sort of song could be playing there. He seemed totally at ease.
After a while, he’d set the chair down and put his fingers to writing; then he’d talk as if to someone else besides himself. For all I know the house could be a haunted one -not just the typical one with eerily whistling winds and mists crawling from one shadowed corner to the other.
He seemed totally queer and ordinary at the same time.

Oh my word! I could swear I heard another voice. No kidding. The closest person to me also heard it. The voice appeared to come from the sitting room where the soliteon lord was sitting. He’d communicate with the voice, the voice would respond, then he’d write.

The rain screamed closer on us.

I conferred with my colleagues and, in view of the talking voice alone, we decided to knock on the door….
___________________________

BACKGROUND: Sometimes, in the dead of the night at my hospital quarters, I’d get up to stroll out, enjoy the midnight plants, animals and weather; and meditate on life and all things sweet and true.
When returning, I’d see my room dimly lit in the dark distant environ and would snicker slightly mockingly at myself, feeling somewhat like the odd soliteon lord in the piece above.
So, I am both the writer and the homeowner characters in the piece.

An average day in the life of Just-a-regular-crazy-spiritual-human.

Only once in a whole day
Does the dawn catch me lazily asleep
Never more than once a day
Do I have the privilege of breakfast
As rarely as once a day
Does the rising sun soothe my soul
And just once in a whole day
Do I have to toil under a fiery sun
Only once throughout the whole day
Does the poor afford a scanty lunch
Believe me it’s once a day
Do I enjoy a liberating evening stroll
And only once in my day
Does resting after work make sense
Never as oft as twice in any day
Do I smell a good supper
And just that one time in the day
Does the night speak sleep to me

…Okay, let’s go rogue now!

Most of the day do I cry for the frailty of humanity
Most of the day do I pull through with hope
Most of the day do I feel the poverty of wallets and souls around
Most of the day do I eat and drink anything I desire
Most of the day do I wear a straight face
Most of the day do I feel happy and contented
Most of the day does my mind actively work
Most of the day I am mostly the man I ought to be
Most of the day none of those that happen once a day happen

The Works Of The Night

Tejas Nair Photography Silent Night

As the cold night dawns, the Dark-ones’ countenances light up,
They are shivering in anticipation of all the pleasure the night gives to them;
And the warm daylight dims as my mood is lifted up.
I am calm in hope of all the pleasure I get from the night.

All through the night, the Dark-ones indulge.
They do and become things too dark to be mentioned openly;
Whilst I put my soul to rest,
As I fall into the arms of Light-God.

The secrecy of the night warms their cold souls.
Their actions come from dark thoughts and need no light to carry them out.
But the solitude of the night cools my passionate veins;
And my words come from a living spirit and need not be loud.

The night will come when they shall sleep like other men.
But it is not this night!
The night will come when I sleep like they shall.
But this night my spirit is at its peak.

This night they grow and weave darkness,
As though they intend to stop the sunlight from shining at dawn.
This night I am up and bright,
Preparing the way before dawn for the sun to shine.

For even if evil successfully lays its egg,
And hatches into a virile spawn before daylight,
Light can still shine in the belly of the darkness,
And it shall run through the evil spawn with the sword of sunlight.