By Shumaila Siddiqui
The feelings of a heart as best as they can be articulated:
Gasping breathlessly in an attempt to give life yet another chance, I happened to discover some desolated ideas reflecting a fairly obscure dimension of perceived reality. Walking down the lane, dwelling on those ideas meanwhile battling the remorseful thrusts of life, I would sometimes look up at the sky in a slight gratitude and perhaps a little disappointment pounding my heart out, in an attempt to ask a simple question; how easy it was for the Divine intervention to save me miraculously? Wondering with every stare I would cast at that blissful ceiling up there, I asked and kept on asking obstinately until the sounds muted down into the melodies of pause, sustained for so long that it started playing the songs of melancholy. The tunes that were lithely wrapping up the silence in the midst of the echoing fluke of conviction. I was right there knocking at the doors of faith when a gush of indifference languidly tried its chance to pull me out of its premises, shattering the doctrines of those beliefs I had once held onto religiously into a crumble of misfortune. I might have stayed there for long, watching the catastrophe of my credence but perhaps it was an attachment to optimism or a mere affinity of troth that I had nourished in my soul for years and years, that tried a slight chance to resist the haunting pull, a little with might and a little with austerity. While I was only leaping out of this fading incredulity somewhere between this pull and the resistance, the struggle and lethargy, I noticed the resilience. The resilience with an aplomb, somewhere in the shadows of embellishing creed that had helped me escape. I gasped again. Struggling to spur further, towards an aisle, of firmness, I received a thrash, back again, leading me to a demurral at the question of staid faith and an insouciance of a kind. A kind, I could not relate to. And I found myself wandering somewhere into the orchards of eschew, harvesting the quandary of all those beliefs I had held onto dearly, questioning reluctantly the very spirit of belief from the scratch. Moving on, as life kept fluttering, I continued to journey. This time, from the imbued axiom of creed to the mellowed yield of denial. And drifting in the midst of the gushes of this panoramic escalation from the ashes of embracement to a flicker of dejection, all I wanted to do was, give faith a chance, with my heart and soul, to rescue me once again.