dark clouds of melancholy

It does not always seem real, and I think sometimes to myself that I am actively evading the thought of it –and god knows work provides plenty of excuse for that- and sometimes it feels as if it has never sank in, or worse, never happened, but then there are those moments when it hits me with such force and reality that shakes up my world. And not moments of grand epiphany, or even otherwise depressed moments. But unexpected moments. Like when I am on the way to home from a trip and there is the deep unprofessed desire to go back and see her, and i find myself trying to bury that desire and not focus on it and dig it out, because then I will realize that it is not possible, and in the process I would have lost that little vague happiness that is found in the wishful thinking and ignorant wondering about such an impossible meeting. Returning home, regardless of how long and where I was gone, never lost its overwhelming quality of joy when she was alive. And then those moments of banal happiness when I am wearing my new overcoat which I have found after looking for a particular type after a lot of searching and am about to close shop and go home and for a fleeting split second a tiny excitement enters my heart about going home and showing my new possessions with my mother. Or, worse, and I have not felt this broken down in a long time, when on the last night before both my sister and myself were leaving (she to resume her studies in india and I on some other trip) I go to kiss my youngest sister good night –thinking that she is asleep- because I do not want to wake her up in the morning and I bend down and pull back the blanket and find her weeping silently and alone in bed and not telling me why, and when I probe further, finding to my utter shock and shame –because I am incapable of this- that she has preserved the memories that I, because of being away for so long and so much, never got to have, and that for her the pain is as real and as fresh as it was on those first few terrible days of nightly mourning and sleep walking and despair; and through it all, hoping to pull through together and seeing the color gone from the world and the smell from the food, and all clouds seeming particularly melancholy. [file under 8/11, memories]


~ by safrang on November 26, 2008.

2 Responses to “dark clouds of melancholy”

  1. This made me cry hamesha.

  2. به یاد سهراب افتادم. شعر دوست
    و رفت تا لب هیچ
    و پشت حوصله نورها دراز کشید
    و هیچ فکر نکرد
    که ما میان پریشانی تلفظ درها
    برای خوردن یک سیب
    چقدر تنها ماندیم…
    چرا تنها می مانیم؟

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