Ink Idle

The days pass by like breaths on a window glass, creating a wall of mist, only to disappear and get replaced by another wall of mist. Freedom was all I wanted, I wonder. Freedom from going to work. But am I really free? Moderately, a voice says. In Keira Knightley’s words from The Duchess, “One is either free or one is not. The concept of freedom is an absolute.” I wonder as I watch my phone ring, the screen illuminated in cyan, light dancing around displaying the name of the caller. I reach out, moderately, then withdraw. I turn back to the metaphorical window and breathe out. With a finger, I draw a frown. My ringtone is loud, but melodious. My head rests against the window as I listen to it. I imagine the caller getting peeved at my absence towards his expectations. I do not care, in fact, I am happy. People must learn not to expect. I pull a metaphorical blanket over my knees as I look out of the window.

Rain lashes against the glass rhythmically with the wind; a kind of swathing sound, as if the ocean waves were crashing outside on a sunny morning. Except the sky seems grey, dark grey, and the clouds roll in and out one after the other. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles. I am receiving another call. It is the same caller. Ethically, I am obligated to answer all calls. However, I say to myself, do I want to be really free? I answer the call, maybe not, I mutter to myself as I say “hello”. The caller is obviously displeased, given that he is my manager. Why must we be available at any time for a person? I do not wonder as I open my laptop, and while the Windows logo swirls at the centre of the screen, my head is once again leaning on the window. I hear music playing. A soft hum of a piano interspersed by fillers from a violin, and tiny drops of water fall rippling into that sound creating a medley as in an artist’s mixer. Colours juxtaposed with sounds, I drift. Before I know it, I feel my body slump over the table. I do not fight, I put my hands below my head on the table and smiling, I drift. I feel free, completely free.

The music forms a bed around me and in that involuntary moment of honesty, I feel like hours and days have passed. It feels like I have been sailing on a river for a week passing by forests and hills. The cool water of the fresh river has rejuvenated my insides and the smell of the hills has given me a renewed spirit. But for what, I do wonder, as I sit back up again and look out of the window. The rain is still battering the ground and the trees sway in the wind as it grows stranger. Its intentions unknown, my intentions undecided. I am a swallow sailing across the lands, my wings bearing me into a world changed from the one that we used to know. I am a messenger for those who are yet to be. Somewhere, I chuckle as I think all of these.

Bear me, O sweet Wind, carry me far
From this wreckage in the sea,
Break this ice, shatter its walls,
And let’s fly into a reverie;
Stooped amidst a droop, we are all
Survivors in this time; warriors,
Artists, accountants, but not a hero
Merely children of the old tree:
Sing me, dear Wind, a song to vie
And sleep in earnest to this lullaby.