Sky

I can’t count the number of times where the words for a poem or story was stuck in me, dying, and that how contemplating the sky through my window inspired me, reviving these words and images that were stuck somewhere in my memory.”

Our sky is a vast magical scene that hangs at large above our head — majestic and ageless, unique and inimitable, a primeval natural structure that’s been around since immemorial times; and I often wonder what secrets it keeps in its transparent mind, or even, what it witnessed in silence since the birth of our planet, and of all the visible and invisible things that it has seen; of all the things that it keeps to itself since ages. 

Pale-blue ghost in the day, at twilight hours it wears its most colourful and flaring colours, at night it puts on its dark-navy sequinned pyjama, while on moonless and starless nights its blackness mystifies the world… and I wish I could talk to the spirit of the sky, I wonder how it really looks like behind the wall of illusion. I think that the spirit of the sky doesn’t have wings, for it is a static and unmoving celestial thing —odourless, tasteless, translucent, I imagine it moving like air does, having that discreet permanent presence property.

Water and botanical sceneries may not be seen by so many of us, even the sun, moon, stars, and other celestial bodies may disappear behind clouds or thick fog of light pollution and smoke, but it’s not the case for the sky, which remains, and continues to inspire by just being present. I can’t count the number of times where the words for a poem or story was stuck in me, dying, and that how contemplating the sky through my window inspired me, reviving these words and images that were stuck somewhere in my memory.

Whether you’re on a battlefield, sightless, unaware of all the wonders that surround us, the sky continues to hang up there like a wonderful décor that bloomed out from a beautiful mind, and this, for everyone to see. All you have to do is take the time to look up and realise that at this very moment, whether it’s night or day, so many of us are watching that same sky, and for me then, there’s always this indescribable emotion that creeps in, a subliminal sentiment, the strange realisation that the sky connects us all, and that no matter where we are, what heartbreaking situations we might be facing right now, in which horrid clutch we’re in, or the terror that haunts us… here, in this peaceful and carefree side of things I’m thinking of you; and you, as terror and horror strike, you’re thinking of the peaceful side of things, of that same sky under which we all live, and that extends itself without frontiers; and then you, who doesn’t see the details of the sky, you know that it’s there, just there, a magical appearance that hangs at large just over our head.

The sky soothes the heart of those who believe in the subliminal emanation of existence, those who have strong faith in life… love life and life will love you back, love the sky and the sky will whisper its secrets to you in dreams… well, that’s what I believe. That’s why when pessimism creeps in, when I recoil inside of my gloomy mantle of dark thoughts, when despair hits, I always look for something that radiates the sublime to hang myself to, and to boost up my mood, of something that’s deemed magical, at least something that shakes me out of my negative state; and apart mountains, mornings, the rustling of leaves, rain, birds, all nature’s gifts that form part of my daily life, the sky, too, is a lovely emanation that I appreciate. 

With its dream-like colours that please the eyes, the ever changing shapes of these wandering clouds, all these creatures that fly and soar above, stars that twinkle and blink, cycles of moon, sunlight, all of this, and many more, make of the sky my favourite contemplative scenery.

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