I dreamt of Heaven (Rants Collection)

//~~~//

The last eulogy to 2020
2020 was a night I never knew existed until I saw the light it threw onto my life- dark light.

January was a jigsaw puzzle whose key was hidden somewhere between the pages of a poetry collection. Strangely alluring and complicated with unlike parts joined together in the likeliest of the ways. It made sense. Even though.

February was a lullaby my mother sung to put me, to sleep. I was drawn to the lines whose meaning were never revealed. It was my mother as I drew deeper.

March was a stranger who gave me goosebumps and left me with goosebumps. I wished it never visited me with his bloodshot eyes and icy glare. It changed forms and visited with varied hues of the same heart. Fortunately. For it left a message of humanity, a message to humanity, whenever it left.

April wasn't a fool. No, it wasn't. It knew it's building a basal to guillotine lives without a knife in a way life resides even after it leaves the head. It was a fool, indeed it was a cruel fool. Cruel would be more suitable to describe its foolishness.

May was a month where everything melted. It melted waiting chocolates, frozen tears, burning letters, closing eyes, whispering lips, Van Gogh's painting, everything. It sprinkled off the spice of humanity into our plain dish of life by taking away a bunch of humans. It melted hearts.

June was the favoured twin and July, the ignored one. They blinked away as soon as they appeared like those screen savers that are always hated and ignored. How often we forget that we were the ones who left the computer, resulting in the metamorphosis of the screen into a screensaver. Turns out, they weren't twins after all.

August wasn't a blessing. It rained heavily this August, on parched hearts and barren lands. Sprouts of hope erupted out of nowhere though. They weren't weeds, fortunately. Or were they?

September didn't bring something new except a hue of darkness that was quite different. It was a painter who painted my home in black when I asked him to put on white. However angry I was, I found black soothing. It was bold, like me. It wasn't plain, like white, like me. It wasn't darker, it was the darkest with a tinge of light that brightened the dusty corners of my heart. I patted the back of that painter who disappeared away taking away the light with himself. I realize, the light wasn't mine or black's, it was its.

October was a star-hunter. It plucked stars to bottle them into hearts. Their longing to rise burned the stars and suffocated hearts. They were left with stardust. Only. I was the unluckily lucky wanderer on whom he stumbled upon. I wasn't a 'she', I was a noun bottled in that pronoun and so, I didn't fell in love. I fell in nothingness. Stars left me and adorned my sky when I was pushed into a rabbit hole with a heart filled with stardust. Useless stardust.

November distributed umbrellas and sweaters for it was an uncertain graduate who didn't know what he would do. We, his family members, were getting ready for whatever that was supposed to hit our shores and enter our home. Deep down, we all knew we would close our doors, wear the sweaters, hold the umbrellas and wait for a speck of sunshine. Rays of winter were going to hit us along with a heap of rod-like downpours. We were ready. At least we thought we were. We didn't know it'll rain in our insides too.

December was a guest. It gave us advice we decided to pass. We passed his advice to him and he, he accepted them all without fuming. It disappeared amidst this game, leaving us disappointed with a thank you note. We found him hanging on our roof, cutting the last rope of hope. We didn't know he will become our hope and home. He did. Only to leave us in the middle of an oasis, in hands of someone we regard as a stranger. Again.

2020 was an askhole. It was a veiled thief in the disguise of a beggar who silently asked for advice, but stole them away when it didn't get any. The best part, it never applied those, it used those. Like we used it to drown our sorrows.