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    Leave me all alone so that I can be drenched in my memories,
    Leave me all alone so that I can taste the aroma of grief,
    Leave me all alone so that I can pretend to live with the miracles of tomorrow.

    TRANQUILLITY!! (*cries*)

    I break my own rules to fit in a chaotic rhythm of neighbourhood. Society calls me antisocial at my silence like those scarlet pearls tokens of a good time, like flashes of golden wishes caged and capsuled inside those abstract moments all which were for my mother, perhaps she breaths in my fragile memories at present, in a plethora of remembrance. Even if I perceive shallow glances of her when I lie dead like a resting tadpole in a corner of dying euphoria and assuming nostalgic merriment thereby. I know that stars like her do not exist in our galaxy but sometimes I bear thin threads of hope which she used to stitch my mood with lots of cherry candies and strawberry scoops. She was the sunshine of my gloomy days when life had drained me to a ocean of glistening tears. I had been suffering from asthma attack and acrophobia since my childhood. I fear mountains, exosphere, everything which stays at extreme heights and the fear, anxiety almost asphyxiates me and obscures my visual notes but from I day I heard that she is going to be a star of the night sky, I tried not to limit my vision.

    Every eve is a special one as I have nothing but my years old diary as a nourishment to memories before her awe striking absence, to reconcile the trauma inside my mind and wake up from yesterday, the avalanche of bright lamps to gloom and dullness blended with spices of perplexed emotions scattered everywhere in my mind and those painted with a splashes of grey. I believe that tidal waves cause currents to energize the ocean water and whenever I look at the ocean, I get energized to bury the stone of an unwanted mood and melancholic anecdotes. Whenever I watch the clock, the hour hand appears attractive rather than the whole clock and emits the power of gravitational pull on my eyes. I don't know why but the reason maybe long hours of an afternoon nap I once had and seeing my mother pay a visit to me in my dreams, all she paid it with my loner abyss in siesta, puting my parched heart to wet with glimpses of her face which is like ice cubes over a flaming body. Then she slowly fragments herself at the time I wake up. The days are passing by like the scattering dandelion seeds in a soothe zephyr, providing a blank space to some unheard lullabies, sweet cries and high pitched melodies. I try my best everyday, investing my thoughts for the next day, to find a remedy to the end of a story featuring her departure and counting my days spent without her. There are many stories authored by her, the vibes of which are drenched in orange of blooms and sometimes timid black of a blackboard among which white shades conceal the pain. As I collect the glimpses from nostalgia, I remember the epitome of serenity who used to wear the ornaments of truth and honesty. I was lucky indeed until I realised that equatorial sky and granite floors weren't mine. I knew that now I have grown myself a psychopath which is termed my the society. I have dissolved myself in sufferings and feeling myself over the furnace of grief, dullness and the escape of a good time.

    Sometimes I dream of a parallel universe where not only the moon but also the stars have an equal share of the night sky, dressed in tar and pitch. I hallucinate that it is a playground of stars and several other constellations join together and play in the inter stellar space sketching rubies and emeralds. There, I have roles for everyone of which the moon is a mere imagery, my mother being the supernova, conceiving a hundred million shimmering stars. Stars are my siblings and finally I am not left all alone.


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    Leave me alone so that I can pretend to live with the miracles of tomorrow.