Cold floor, colder feelings, smoke and more

you know what’s beautiful?

when i sit on cold floor, and even colder feelings inside of me…

and i know, that finally i’m home alone and i can afford to release. But somehow, i cannot because there is always a hesitation that chokes back sobs and words alike… either arising because i sit there not knowing where to begin… or because i sit there knowing that the end suffers another round of the same cycle repeating.

and i sit there oblivious of time, of my breath and of the synchronised ageing of each moment.

being unsure whether the coldness of the floor transacts with my heat or my warmth dissipates into the chill, i realise both mean the same.

all reasoning and wits and philosophies stand at the altar of my fogged judgement, ready to be sacrificed in name of exhaustion and unwillingness…

And midst this whirl of thought, and the absence of it at the same, reluctantly, i try another attempt…

 the striking of the match wakes the silence to an eerie echo, and the flames dance before, waiting to be unfurled. Moments later, when tendrils of smoke rise with the fall of ash and soot, an overwhelming calm spreads like epidemic over my mind. With every fall and rise of smoke and soot, i ponder again to be or not to be… 

Wafting with the last thread of godly mist, disappear every last troublesome worry of mine… because i know, all will be ash, and dust. When nothing more than lores of times remain crypt in the air, all shall be ash and dust.

how one incense stick could do this, is beautiful.

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