Work Hard…Party Hard…Moonlight…

Running… Running…Running…. as if playing a video game where all the monsters are supposed to be killed, and only one life line left…. running,running notstop!…this office stuff, that meeting… this offer, those targets….we run and run and run forgeting totally about the absurdity of wasting our prime time of lives in helping someone make more money…harder, even harder… running fast, unknowingly, un consciously ,(Abba’s money money money flashing in the brains!…))  too innocently our habitual state of living letting us fall into a dark abyss; for what is darkness but a feeling of unknowing-ness that can make us shiver even in the broad daylight…..  falling like a sky dive in dark deluding ourselves that it will never end…

And then the night comes and the plane running long all through the day,takes off … and the PARTY begins…..
Dancing on the beats of african music, shivering cold bodies, crowds of lonely thoughts willing to die their deaths in our minds for one moment of forgetfulness…..glasses breaking…people of smoke trying to find their own shadows in the fizzling lights of blue and green, smoky faces blending, dissolving, flikering with unconscious happiness… dancing bodies, distracted minds…the Dar nightclub people…..singing so loud but cannot hear themselves….

Its 2AM in the night now. Am standing in my balcony,tired but consciously more aware of myself, watching the moonlight dispearing in the great dark existense of the sea, just like how consciousness disapears in the bleak hustle bustle of our daily lives. Tomas Transtromer is smiling at me, a smile confirming the understanding of a  similar deja vu, peeking slyly from the folds of his poetry book. “the great enigma” lying open on my side table.

Tracks(Poem by Tomas Transtromer)
2AM: Moonlight, The train has stopped
out in the middle of the plain.
Faraway… points of light in a town, flickering coldly at the horizon

As when someone has fallen into a dream so deep
he’ll never remember having been there
when he comes back to his room

As when someone has fallen into an illness so deep
everything of his days were to become few flickering points, a swarm,
cold and tiny on the horizon.

The train is standing quite still.
2AM: bright moonlight, few stars……..