The summoning of the re-incarnation

She woke up to the usual morning, with the birds playing euphonies, the enigmatic sun rays embracing the earth's surface, but even the intense gracefulness of nature failed to win a smile of composure on her face.

She wandered in her abandoned house like an erratic spirit seeking for salvation. She folded the quilt in the neatest possible way, placed it at the tail of the bed, and puffed the pillow. She grabbed the hair chopstick from the side table and crafted it in her hair. The tiny chopstick performed a kind of martial art inside her tresses before resting still. Ending the daily morning chores in a timely manner, she walked out of the bathroom, dripping water from her hair, on the soft snowy carpet. She looked like an ordinary girl, like any woman would, in the morning; beautiful and vulnerable. 

Fifteen minutes later there stood an entirely different individual in front of the mirror, a lean, mean, and a numb, corporate dame. She attired herself in a perfect pin-striped black business suit. She pulled out the shirt’s cuffs from the sleeves of her suit's jacket and examined herself again in the mirror. She felt like a mannequin.

She saw a bitter woman not fancied by many owing to her solid rigid lamination she wore on her true self. She saw her inner age a decade older than she really was. She knew the reason why she was loved before and why she was hated now, but she didn't understand what to make out of her, she didn't understand If she was a winner with an attitude of a loser or vice-versa. Her eyes she saw were an ocean of grief. She tried hard to find the girl she had in her some years ago and she failed miserably. She landed her eyes on her diary on her work desk, opened the usual last page, and read to her, her self-written sonnet to begin her day. And that was her daily routine:

When the early dawn seemed blazing, I glimpsed out of the window,
and the entirety embossed like a blight.
The demons in my creed kept staring,
At the tear in my smile like a stubborn parasite.
I yearn to shed the outfit of stress, wish to don a cactus dress,
Like the shining armor of a ferocious knight.
A crowd is noisy, so desert my mess,
I am a lone warrior to embark upon this fight.
The rampant chaos is my melody I cherish,
The anguish is the moon of my dark night.
When all the sufferings once will perish,
My languid spirit will endure in bright.
The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,
With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war.

She felt a profound feeling of boldness together with courage and she was composed to encounter the day. She adored her camouflaged cactus dress and smiled. A dress to keep everyone away with the fear of its thorns, as for the one in thorns can never be pricked.

While she walked on the streets of the foreign land, she tried to read those cold faces as they passed by. She wished she could peek deep down into their souls and see if they were like hers, frigid from outside, but entirely distinct from inside. The unfamiliarity in their eyes pinched her and she always searched for a home. She kept swaying on the street like an invisible flow of wind.

As closer as she was getting to her destination, she was feeling a sense of attachment, a sense of belonging, a sense of tranquility. She tried to seal her soul like one would close their eyes and thought how bizarre her journey was. The guiltless, happy decade of her childhood expired in a blink and the time from then never craved to move ahead. She thought of the separation from her loved ones, separation for education, and then the separation for career, and then the future separation for the rituals and the hypocrisy of mankind called Marriage. The bunch of orchids in her hand surfaced the irony in a more absolute way. 

When she walked more on the street, she questioned her existence, not in this world but, in the city where there existed no part of her own. She recollected the time when she ran to keep pace with people. She recalled how she tried to await those friendly eyes but, finally ended up embracing all the coldness with a fake warm smile and with a moaning heart inside.

When she was less than a foot away from her destination, she took a deep breath closing her eyes and swallowed the silence which rode around. It was her homecoming. She entered into the soothing serene ambiance and it tempted her.  She pictured the anguish and cries the place accumulated inside it. She saw bouquets and she saw tombstones. She saw life inside each and she saw death outside them, ironically. Demise embossed in the form of names. She knew which one was calling for her. She walked swiftly and knelt down as the earth beneath magnetized her.

©mycactusdress

With the most elegant way, she blew the dust from the stone and placed the orchids in the center. She didn’t feel the need to pray, she didn’t feel the need to have a selfish chat with a god, where she could ask for more. The gushing breeze blew her hair and she could hear it as the unsaid prayer. She swallowed all the emptiness of the place and merged it with the emptiness inside her. She was the murderer, the person behind the death of the one inside the tombstone. After spending a few unspoken moments with the dead, she stood up and felt again the same sense of boldness, and this time, assembled with blackness. As she started to leave, she turned back for the final time, for the final closure, and generated the first genuine smile of the day while she read the tombstone.....

¨ME¨

The anguish is the moon of my dark night

When all the sufferings once will perish

My languid spirit will endure in bright.

The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,

With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war