12/13/16

57 times turned over...

It was one of those evenings when the twilight is in love with itself... Like a mistress on prol.. Inconspicuous... So sure of herself...Like flees falling in the web of mystique... That passion which eludes... Twilight was having a romantic time with herself... 

The moon felt ashamed to be full today... For it dare share the beauty of the evening with the twilight in passion... The sky gave away its allegiance.. As it refused to turn dark... The orange mist across the horizon spread.. Like a smile spreading long after the waft of her scent had passed... 

And there lie the book she was reading....the same page... 57 times turned over...as if in a trance.. Music to her soul...the words danced in her mind... For they were incoherent... There was too much to comprehend for the eyes... And senses alike... For her mind to register the subtleties in between the lines...

As the last bird lost from the flock flew close to the unturned page of the book... Searching for her home... Or running the rebellion alone... She slipped into her sleep once more... Tomorrow would be another day... Tomorrow would again be today... The nurse took her to the bed... 

-Ashk

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