To Quill the Mocking World
(4 min read)
The morning comes at the start. Followed by an afternoon, an evening, ending with the climax of a night. But then, out comes a morning again. And again. Every single day.
I wonder what to think of this morning. Is it like a brand new baby being presented to the world for the first time. Like a freshly baked bread which comes into existence only when it is popped out of the oven. Where the concept is old but the form takes a distinctly unique identity with each delivery? Or is it the reheated microwave dinner. The washed, starched and ironed laundry (with no real lemon used for the fragrance). Where both the concept and the form are stale but we manage to make it all look new, fresh and warm each time.
Why I wonder? Why do I spend, rather waste, my time and mental energy trying to answer these weird questions? Oh, leave the answers – why do these questions even arise?
To be honest, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to know. Or maybe none of this is weird and we are all thinking about the same thing? Maybe every single one of us questions the morning every single morning. Every single day (with the exception of Mondays when I believe even existence comes into question). The universal search for ‘how did it all start’ fades in comparison against ‘why does it repeat every day, why in Gods name does it not end’. Why does the big bang continue banging? Every single day.
It is definitely helpful during stressful, anxious, uncertain gloomy times. You can afford to ‘sleep over things’ comforted by the fact that you are most likely to wake up again. Then you do wake up to a ‘fresh beginning’ where you embark upon a brand new adventure of the young day. Don’t you?
Of course you don’t!
This morning and its metaphors only get used (and abused) by the well wishers as prescriptions for solving real practical life problems. Problems, which would not even exist in the first place if the blessed next morning was not on its way.
Now, the overflowing abundant excess of mornings does have its advantages. Because, we have so many of them, we end up seeing many types of them.
Some mornings are far worse than the others. These mornings are nothing but an extension of the groggy hungover night trying to pass itself off as a morning. The pressures of time force the night to wake up but it can’t really wash off the mood as quickly. These dark mornings are an embarrassment to the morning community. But then, every family has a black sheep.
Then there are these mornings which are over enthusiastic. These weekend mornings are always in a rush to grow up. By the time you wake up they have already matured into an afternoon and you have missed out on those precious times you wanted to hold on to. And now you are burdened with all the associated coming of age responsibilities. You can no longer delay getting out of bed and making something of the day. But then again, you can’t really blame those mornings because in the weekend the whole universe and the very dimension of time seem to be in a hurry.
Oh and there are these lazy long mornings. Called Mondays.
Enough with the whining I guess. Mornings are not all bad. Like every dusk has a dawn, thankfully every dawn also has a dusk. If there were no mornings we wouldn’t get the nights. Would we? And nights are the best part of the day. The night is far less complicated than a morning. All it demands from you is that you sleep. Dreams are only encouraged. For the wild in heart, who value something other than sleep, they have the option to admire the stars and the moon, experiment with their artistic literary sides without worrying about a scorching morning sun. For me, this part of the day, this part right here, right before morning, this part is called ‘happyness’.
On that note, Good night. We need to be well prepared for the morning that is on its way.