I get a feeling I am walking on a Zebra crossing - rapidly alternating between the white and the black - the light and the dark. There are moments of truth when my whole life and the purpose of it lies clearly ahead of me, when I can see where I am going and what I want to do. But without warrant, I suddenly fall into a deep despair where things go hazy. All I see is a deep well, that does not offer an exit. I know all I have to do is bide my time..untill I walk to my patch of light. But everytime in those dark patches a fear grips me...what if the road ends with a dark patch and what if I have reached that patch and will never get out of it.
I am desperately trying to be hopeful about life. And yet the dark patched always loom larger than the white ones. Why is it? I swiftly stride through the white always worried about the black that will come. But when I am on the black, it never occurs to me that the white is as certain as this black.
Is it just me who cherishes her darkness and takes a deeper meditation in it, or is the whole world more enamored by this dark? Why isn't there a parallel between the white's joy and the black's despair? |
Submission Name: Zebra Crossing
