Pillows and Clockworks.

                        

It seemed like a complicated, intricate machinery from the inside of a huge clock from above. The revolving, rotating gears whose teeth didn’t really coincide like a clockwork yet their mutual forces of gravity kept them in close contact and perfectly aligned for the wandering mind to speculate about. All this gyrating circus amidst a background of infinite black stretching into nothingness. God certainly took great pride in how He created the universe. He watched from the skies above as one half of His planet Earth draped itself in black silk as the other took it off. Further down He gazed into the dark half, as the sun desperately threw its final beams of the day, at His dearest creation- man. 

                                               ____________________

Even years after his retirement, life was not as quiet as he expected to be. His grand-kids kept him busy with their tantrums, games and vital outings at the nearby park with him every day. He never did mind their hullabaloo. It brightened up his quiet life but not the nights. The nights were the hardest. Beth had left an empty space in his life, his bed, his day. He missed her badly. More so because now as he was lying on his flimsy pillow, he could overhear the heated arguments of his son’s wife over his presence in their house, the sudden overbearing increase in her responsibilities and how money was a big problem suddenly. He wished his knees weren’t that weak nor his breath too jagged so that he was less of an inconvenience for his dear son. What broke his heart wasn’t her statements but his son’s admittance. Beth left too early, too soon. He wouldn’t forgive her for that. He made a mental note as his mind slowly drifted off.

                                              ______________________

Failure. He was always afraid of that word. He never expected experiencing it would be as painful and demeaning as his fear was. He had lost. What was more agitating was disappointing others who had high hopes from him especially his parents. What was absolutely heartbreaking was seeing his own dreams crash down. He had worked for acing the entry test. He was sure he was going to make it but somehow, he fell short of his aimed target. It was like getting so close to his destiny and almost reaching out , hands outstretched and he missed it by just a mere centimeter. The possibility of attainment was so real, so close. The guilt and depression wouldn’t let him sleep. It was always nudging away at his pillow, at his insides, at the periphery of his subconscious and conscious mind. Sleep was always far away. It was never a comforter but the darkness always was. The black numbed his senses. It perfectly reflected the insides of his labyrinthine mind. Something he could frankly share his thoughts and gloom with. As he gazed outside by the window, darkness crawling from the outside into his room, his thoughts revolved only around one thing. The potency of His God, the debris of his dreams and his failure. 

                                             _______________________

The ant crawling on his foot didn’t bother him as much as the image of that shiny red car did. As he tilted his head on his garbage collecting bag by the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of the city life. The flickering streetlights and headlights of cars passing by, their blaring horns, their shiny surfaces he could see his face in. Cars always delighted him. He was mesmerized how people like him could sit in those mobile boxes that had catchy songs and magic windows that slid up and down at will. He dreamt of driving one. Especially that red one he saw other day at the bridge. He wanted it so badly that he had started skipping his one meal to save some money for that car. Maybe one day he would be able to at least in it. His stomach gave a moaning grumble but he ignored it. The light in his eyes was shining too bright to be dimmed by anything else. He closed his eyes and imagined the red car. He loved his dreams now as he could race away the red box into the long winding road, disappearing into the horizon. 

                                              ________________________ 

Her day began when night approached for the world. As she adjusted the head cloth on her head and reapplied the red lipstick, there was a knock at the door. It was Shazia- the head of the brothel. It was time for the customers to arrive and her customary dance to begin. She dreaded the night. The dance wasn’t as exhausting as to what came after it. Hours and hours of invasion of her body’s privacy, the rocking back and forth, the grunts, the bruises, the moans, the end. As darkness crept in and her part of the sinful world laid wide awake in its errant activity, her mind wandered off to the times she used to play in the streets with her siblings. When life was simpler, the world more pure. How far she was from it now and how far was her life going to take her away from it, she wondered. Suddenly, her pillow felt somehow more uncomfortable. 

                                              ________________________

The only person she had of her own in this world was her son who was now vacillating between life and death. Years of toiling and keeping a family together, she had none anymore to keep up with. The same disease that snatched away her husband was now eating at the insides of his son. TB, they called it. The tendency of this evil to shrink a tall, braving man of 20s into a living, debilitated corpse was no less than a massive heartbreak for her. No matter what she tried, how hard she prayed, how she begged to the local hakeems and doctors alike to cure her son, nothing seemed to be working. It was always the blood stained coughs, the deepening, shrunken pits of his eyes and night sweats that inhabited her nights after the tiring work of her day. Darkness brought back with it, all the problems of her life that she left momentarily behind as she left for work every day. 

                                             __________________________

She punched the pillow once more. Her anger did not abate. It didn’t pull sleep towards her no matter how badly she was craving it. What was it about tonight that couldn’t get her to sleep? She knew the answer before the question even formed in her mind; him. The guilty pleasure her heart and mind had embraced and were unwilling to let go of. How could she have gone so weak? So vulnerable? And yet as hope and passion prodded her, caution and reality kept her restrained. They insisted it was an infatuation but even she knew they were lying. The grim confession could still not wipe away the impossibility of it. Why can’t we get things we admire? Why can’t those devil of sentiments, ever so strong, make things happen and beat reality so bad that it never dares to crush dreams again. Why had one unimportant person suddenly become a highlight in her life?She sighed as she laid her head down on the squished pillow. The chirping of the crickets outside couldn’t silence the noise inside her mind. She was beginning to get acquainted with insomnia…

                                             ___________________________

The double pillow was soft and cozy, the air scented, the room a comfy dim. She was fidgeting with her engagement ring. 28 years of marriage. Year after year of compromise, trust, love, relationship to see it all collapse in a moment. Some things you feel will never betray you. They will go as planned. The truth in them shall outshine the rest. The power will overcome all. The sincerity will never die. Nothing shall go wrong. Because sentiments. Sentiments will rule. They will conquer. And happiness and contentment shall come as if it is promised. And possibly hope plays a deadly role; instigating the dreams and struggles. And then reality defeats it mercilessly. Crushes the dreams, shatters the hope, and causes a pain so real it feels it’s almost physical. Some drops fall off the crevice. Some never come out. Years of labored construction and one swift, graceful final stroke of destruction. It’s almost artistic, the tragedy. Or are the sentiments never real? The sincerity is just a whiff of smoke that is concentrated when produced but drifts away into nothingness. She had never seen it coming. Another woman in the life of the person she supposed and claimed to be her very own always. When did it happen? How could he do that to her, their children, their family? She was deeply troubled, the pillow miserably wet and the other half of the bed, unnervingly cold.

                                             _____________________________

The night was his favorite time of the entire day. That’s when he could really unwind and truly connect to his inner self and God Himself. He would silently creep upstairs to the rooftop and look up at God’s beautiful canvas of black and glowing, white dots all night. The serenity of the moment was indescribable. He would stay there till dawn. Watched as the stars glowed for him until small streaks of orange lights pierced the sky, leading the azure color onto the canvas with purple and crimson playing along. It was simply beautiful. How the black bursts into colors and the colors soon converge with time yet again into black. The earth was indeed a great pillow to watch the sky. How could sleep ever come to him when God’s vastness was just too striking to ever even absorb the utter beauty of a speck of it? 

                                               ______________________________

Life is strange. The charming versatility of it. The insignificance of existence. The exquisite chance to breathe, dream, discover and simply exist. God made sure to create something much more than a clock. The bodies existent at an exponential power in both negative and positive, have workings more intricate and complicated than a chronometer. So are the struggles and stories that awaken and sleep every day as the dark and the light play. He revels in His creation. The view from above the heavens surely must be very interesting. As the other half begins to welcome the black widow in its arms, God comfortably shifts His gaze towards the fables of the other half.

One at a time, He smiles to Himself. 

Let the struggles manifest.