A PERPLEXED MIND

 Perhaps it is only a thought, or a word uttered, or maybe just a ripple, a drop of the rain without meaning. Still the skin develops goosebumps, maybe from the chill wind, the fingers quiver, the teeth shiver with the initial words in mind. Farther away yet nearer, the initial expression dressed up in terror and sighting emerges from the darkness, still covered in a veil. But maybe, it was only a ripple, and yet its great cataracts fall, and fall, and fall, parting ways between steady hills of might.

Its like trying to shape a sculpture with your hands, sensibly, wildly following your own whim with rage and equilibrium-every minute, you terribly fail. Wave after wave, filled with doubt like the thought of the ocean overflowing from its bottomless cup. Listening to the profound silence in the mind, sometimes deafening, yet with a night of storms filled with dry winds. Trying to make out what the huge silence in the mind means. The solitude, uncertainty, pain, anger, joy, laughter, happiness, chaos, hunger, thirst, courage, fear and sadness fill your eyes with mist. And what happens when you can no longer tell between the fragrances you cherished, when the earth stretches and breathes but you cannot decipher between red and yellow.

Where can you go without a passion, heart and aim, without the patience, without brief hands and fast feet deprived of longing and want. What more can you do if you are strangely unhinged and muddled in without the wits that your brain had? Your thoughts are red yet cold, beautiful like a hazel tree in the august, yet Yearning of a laugh filled with the notes of your soul only that the distance to that laughter is so vast and out of reach. Scarcely, have you thought of your thoughts, How united, confused and mixed up they get and without a oneness, a generous vast wholeness, a crackling and living fragrance so far away.  When the days are meshed up together, that Monday with Tuesdays and the week with the whole year, yet like time, our thoughts too can not be cut, with the exhausted scissors of avoidance.

Even when all the words are washed out by the waters of night, all moments drowned in the nothingness, tears without the weeping and speech unknown to you, only you can hold the pieces from falling apart further. Yet how long can man live in their mind after all? A thousand years, or one only? And how can he harness the wind in the night, yet only he can distill the loveliness from the hate, their fragrance from a wave of wild scent. Tell me, who are you in the night of seas, tell me whether your rugged hair covers the solitude, whether the expanse of your thoughts is infinite, whether you’ve drowned and lost the sense of sanity and whether your white dental hides the ruthless words behind it. Who are you, when the moon is full and white, when the harbour is not in sight, are you the wreck ship, pushed ashore by the wind? 

Can you tell of the dreams that open up inside, the secrets breathed, the joys forgotten like a simple mug of hot chocolate in the Nairobi July weather? Can you compose the mind at night so you can dream of silence, or dream of music?  Can you try and pick your form from the sand even when it drops through your fingers? Doubtless of your memories for through these, we live. You navigate with your soul and only with the self, even when you are sunken in a sterile sorrow. 

 Under the strange night, you remember that you owe yourself an autumn by the sea, a coffee by the shade, a grape under the elegant sky sun. You owe yourself the silent valley in which your sorrows are lost, where you yearn for your joys to  rise to the forehead. Even when its hard to tell between the dreams and the thoughts, let the wind open your tremor in the dawn of light and try to live outside the petals of you mind.🌹