Two Ends of A Moment

I lay under the noise of a ceiling fan in a borrowed cotton kurta, staring at the timber ceiling of my father’s ancestral house. Windows open to the side of me, with occasional chirping of birds, sweat tries to calm the hotness lingering behind my neck, baby hairs around my face stick to my forehead. I’m flustered and uneasy, but I lay there remembering Neruda’s warm poetry, stroking my own locks, pulling strands and letting them fall through my fingers that still have a lingering scent of mangoes I opened raw with my hands earlier. And there isn’t a thought that isn’t about the coolness of the night, or chilled soda pop or the cold heart of my lover. I’m thirsty in the throat but the moment eludes me, time has painfully slowed down this afternoon, almost dreamy , almost embalmed in the oil and sweat of  this sweet tropical summer. Out the window, in a slow course , the sky is shifting. I can feel the weight of the storm in the distance, a wind , a slow breeze carrying its calm and I lay patiently. My body cools down in the sight of a sodden cloud , and all my longings are for the rain as I hear a distant thunder. When the storm finally arrives, it is forgiving to all. The smell of earth and wood is everywhere and it unshackles me from my own hot liquid ache . Leaves grow heavier, not out of pain but only out of the heaviness of memory. In the eye of a pouring rain, birds find temporary roofs and call it home, quiet and almost desolate, the earth takes a long deep breath in and I find time and everything in its grip coming to a still, rooted. Behind me my grandmother tells me it’s the first rain of monsoon, the heat will no longer tug at you she jokes. On the brim of a season change,  I already fall into my nostalgia for summer .  I feel my entire life I only live longing for moments like these, in the desire to experience such heightened moments of raw and mostly unattainable pleasure that only comes from earth and its bringing of calm to both my melancholy and joy, sometimes both in the expanse of one moment.
journal; Two Ends of A Moment by Thamanna Razak

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