There is a storm raging outside my window, Insomnia grips my mind. Its way past bed time, way past mid night.
Petrichor is the term given to that earthly smell of rain, as it falls on the ground. The storm is raging, and violent. Lightning strikes, the clouds are bloody red. The skies shatter and the sounds reverberate through Time and Space.
I can hear the rain now. As it pitter patters against my windows. I have left all windows and doors open-ajar; to welcome the petrichor to carry me away. Somewhere else.
I have this thing with rains and storms. They are the only times when something over powers those bickering voices in my head. Maybe thats why Monsoon is my favourite season. I was born in the monsoons.
The storms are also the best time because they remove, the silence of the silences which have been haunting me.
These days, nights have become tougher than they were before.
I have all of these pent up emotions inside. Raging like storms. For the past 10 years, I have been suppressing these demons. They don’t seem to comply anymore. Who said that demons disappear as we grow older.
I wish I could rain one day, and then peace would wrap me up in her arms.
But instead of a rain filled cloud, I am a raging volcano. Eruptions follow each other, always surging and bubbling under the surface. Refusing to be dormant.
It is difficult to open up. Difficult to put down words that make sense about the feelings that I cannot make sense of myself. No combination of the 26 alphabets seems close enough to what races through my mind.
Yet I choose to write. What else can I do? I write to make order of chaos.
I write to comprehend the world around me. To draw sense of these happenings. To understand the world, and its people. I use my pen to see things clearly.
I loose myself in writing to find myself again.
I wish one day comes when I can unleash all that is there.
All that there ever was.
All that will ever be.
I wish to turn into the storm in my mind.
Like the storms that ravage cities.
Untill nothing is left.
Everything ceases to exist.
No sense of time or space or reality.
And I wish that my storm would leave a mark amidst the chaos,
perhaps linger like the petrichor.