The Evening of 7 Wonders
It was 7 in the evening. Everything started to be darkened when the faded evening sun transformed to dimmed orange gigantic ball which it resembled the eyes filled with wraths and anxieties - for other somehow found it serened and breathtaking.
It was 7 in the evening. It was his feet he found sauntering over the turf people use to stomp on their feet running without one specific reason nor rationale. He wondered why and kept on lazily walked the pathway.
It was still 7 in the evening when he thought that world has stopped moving and clock has stopped ticking he couldn't hear any voice, any bike ramming, any bird chirping. Anything. He couldn't smell the roasted chicken he used to buy when he thought he needed something new to be eaten. He couldn't see his fingers danced on the sequence of scattered alphabets and numbers on the keyboard he loved to hit when he had his own sweet time.
It was 7 in the evening when he saw his life flashed in front of his very eyes like a rusted old film rolling over an old wrecked projector. It was silent. No words. No sounds. It was just his life that he saw how did he feel ashamed of what he had done. How painful he had gone through over the years of his own monochromatic static life. How bold he was to be able to survive in this horrifying walk of life. How he saw he had never walked this life alone when there was always a God to help him ponder about his own miniature flawed life.
He cried.
He bawled his head.
He terrified.
It was 7 in the morning when he saw the sun suddenly crawled up from the back of the hill he could see miles away from his loft. He found colors he couldn't feel through the previous years of his living. He heard voices he longed to listen. He saw cars moving heftily. He could smell the curry from the stall a stone throw from his abode.
He's alive.
He's breathing.
He cried.
He bawled.
He terrified that this was only a dream.
He didn't care.
He smelled the curry.
He saw colors.
He saw a life.
"Oh God Thy most Beneficent, Thy most Merciful. Shalt I wish these dreams were the fraction of the puzzle Thy scrambled for I to put it back together, for I to be awaken with Thy power, as Thy art Thy most Forgiveness"
May the day that will come by be filled with your own reason and rationale.
Zubaidah Arshad on March 7th, 2007
It was 7 in the evening. It was his feet he found sauntering over the turf people use to stomp on their feet running without one specific reason nor rationale. He wondered why and kept on lazily walked the pathway.
It was still 7 in the evening when he thought that world has stopped moving and clock has stopped ticking he couldn't hear any voice, any bike ramming, any bird chirping. Anything. He couldn't smell the roasted chicken he used to buy when he thought he needed something new to be eaten. He couldn't see his fingers danced on the sequence of scattered alphabets and numbers on the keyboard he loved to hit when he had his own sweet time.
It was 7 in the evening when he saw his life flashed in front of his very eyes like a rusted old film rolling over an old wrecked projector. It was silent. No words. No sounds. It was just his life that he saw how did he feel ashamed of what he had done. How painful he had gone through over the years of his own monochromatic static life. How bold he was to be able to survive in this horrifying walk of life. How he saw he had never walked this life alone when there was always a God to help him ponder about his own miniature flawed life.
He cried.
He bawled his head.
He terrified.
It was 7 in the morning when he saw the sun suddenly crawled up from the back of the hill he could see miles away from his loft. He found colors he couldn't feel through the previous years of his living. He heard voices he longed to listen. He saw cars moving heftily. He could smell the curry from the stall a stone throw from his abode.
He's alive.
He's breathing.
He cried.
He bawled.
He terrified that this was only a dream.
He didn't care.
He smelled the curry.
He saw colors.
He saw a life.
"Oh God Thy most Beneficent, Thy most Merciful. Shalt I wish these dreams were the fraction of the puzzle Thy scrambled for I to put it back together, for I to be awaken with Thy power, as Thy art Thy most Forgiveness"
May the day that will come by be filled with your own reason and rationale.
Zubaidah Arshad on March 7th, 2007
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