Friday, February 07, 2014

Where the mind is without fear

In these darkest hours of my existence in the middle of this melancholic night, when the rain outside befalls the putrid leftovers of last winter's undergrowth, when an eerie ominous noise of acidic precipitation seems to have engulfed the rest of sleeping humanity, when the baffled pigeons knock themselves against cold windowpanes and street dogs occasionally bark and break the suspended dreams of this neighborhood, when the mind grapples with despair and the lungs puff out stale, polluted air with monotonous effort, my heart sees a faint, distant hope.

And it whispers, in those secretive ways of the heart which only hearts understand: let there be light. And the door of the refrigerator opens.