The Night Is More Beautiful

The Sun has a habit of smashing like an ocean wave whenever you open your eyes to the bright morn. That is why I like nights so much; for their peace is found wanting in the kingdom of Sun. Most of all, the light is often as blinding as the dark and the heat. The Sun is a constant hellfire upon which our fragile bodies are always in danger of being burned to ashes.

Life under Sun is much harder than life under Moon, perhaps that is why most of our beloved forefathers were always awake at night. They would laze on these beds, which can teach a soft arse a lesson, admiring the night sky with a cigar in their mouth. More often than not they would be shirtless, one would think they would at least be more modest in the night. Lazing there they would fall asleep in a complex pattern of legs and arms and awake with a prayer on the lips and curse in the heart or otherwise fall asleep again.

I think that our forefathers enjoyed more of life than us poor children ever can. Life is such a hardship for us or maybe it is a ‘hard ship’ for us for in the sea of dreams it is often found leaking. Believe me when I confess that many have sunk just for their carelessness. Care! We breathe with care, not breathe carefree, each beat of heart is resounded with a thousand thoughts of death. So much worry!

Who can deny the beauty of this?

Sometimes, mostly on Sundays, I can still see that carefree air of life; when children are seen playing cricket in the vast fields and the shopkeepers are gathered around a game of marbles or cards or for that matter sticks and the ladies are the most beautiful sight for their voices, though piercing, carry the word of good, or bad, news far faster than a television. They can be seen talking to the neighbors from the walls. It is most lovely.

Anyways, nights are more beautiful and the air is sweeter still. It is of memories, of thoughts, of wonder, of notions and of dreams. When I look at the sky, I feel like my grand, grandfather, old and wearied by age. I see my past lay before me on the dark canvas. Therefore, I say, nights are more beautiful.

Moon makes faces at me for I insult it by thinking of someone else. I never thought that Moon could be this possessive. I think the phrase, “Shoot for the Moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land amongst the stars.” is funny for Moon is too possessive to let the stars have you but don’t plan on shooting yourself to the Moon; I have heard it is quite far away.

Don’t try this at home…

Precisely this notion, this idea of thought, this despairing vision stops us from shooting for the Moon or for the stars, for that matter. Distance is an illusion of mind, have you ever travelled in a desert? Don’t you see how never-ending it seems, don’t you feel it in your bones? The further you aim, the further you fall. Literally fall.

Our forefathers thought of Moon as merely an object some miles away, and though they never got the idea of shooting towards it (they loved themselves too much) they certainly stared at it until they became blind. Yes! They would stare at it day and night for they knew they couldn’t attain its brilliance but they could appreciate it.

I have said to my friend that I will aim for the stars and land on the Moon, for the stars are more further away and I also want to see her. How brilliantly does the imagination of humans’ shine!

But what of nights when the Sun no longer shines on the Moon? When the Moon is no longer visible? Should you then shoot blindly towards the Moon? Alas! There is more chance of you falling on your arse than on landing on the Moon if you follow that piece of advice; and hence it is judged better that your aim must be higher and further so that when the hour comes, you are not found with a sore arse nor a broken leg but standing proudly, yet alone, on the surface of some star.

Remember, pride is as important as your destination and it would do neither your landing site nor your pride any good if you shoot too early or too low.

What if you shot in the day? There are too many advices that will come useful in this condition. Either shoot opposite to the Moon, aim high and pray to God Almighty that you land somewhere other than the ground or don’t shoot while the Sun still shines.

Hence, again we are forced to admit that nights are more beautiful and productive.

Let’s talk about arrows. You see they are made of wood and bound with feathers to help them fly. This doesn’t mean that you become Icarus and fly like the arrow, though he died in the end you have to applause his courage and strength. Death takes us all, anyways.

In our culture, it is said that “once an arrow leaves a bow, it never comes back.” or a different version of it says that “words are like arrows, once they leave, you can’t take them back.” Do you blame me if I differ in opinion to these opinions? They are not facts but merely perceptions. Oh sorry, forgive my mind for it turns to philosophy more than a wife turns to her husband.

Anyways, once I lay under the Moon, as I often do, shirtless like my grandfathers and the only thing I found wanting was a good cigar to my lips and a good company of friends. As I often tell my friend, I love nights for their air of wonderment and peace but apart from that I love the scenery; the patterns of the stars and the way our galaxy arcs in the night sky. I am a madman, a fanatic, my profession requires it. What is my profession? Not writing nor any other of the sort. My profession is wondering. You see, I find wonder in everything that is or was or will ever be. In Greek myth, night is known to be present even before the Sun. Then they say that Greeks were a dark nation and for Romans I will only say these words; “Good writers borrow, great ones steal.”

Civilization from civilization we witness a sense of evolution like Darwin said, though of course we weren’t apes before. The theory of evolution, as wrong as it is believed to be, is also right in some manner of thought. We are creatures of change, of evolution, though we physically remain the same we evolve spiritually and intellectually. We may have been heathens like apes in our past but today we are a humanity with a sense of respect and honor. We share and we love, we hope and we expect. That is what makes us humans. Humanity is an idea, as was brutality.

I think those who find themselves lonely among crowds are among the greatest of geniuses. It is funny but we are all mentally ill, first because that is the price; second because every masterpiece is a constituent of little imperfections. And as someone said, “Man is a masterpiece.”

The Weaver

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