Manzar

How nice it is sometimes to sit in unlit rooms as night falls... night shadows everywhere. Light from a bulb in the neighbourhood comes in at an angle, the window grills throw sharp shadows on my walls, magnified here, curiously altered on that one. The leaves of the alamanda sway in the breeze, but I see only their obscure dance on the cupboards. A passing scooter throws a pane of light that flits quickly across the roof and goes away. The light reflected off some glass, bouncing off goodness-knows-what surfaces. Car headlights flood the room momentarily, their glare too bright for this mellow moment. Air stirs the curtains, bringing hints of jasmine and frangipani.

All this happens every night. Every night. To come alive, all it needs is my attention.