Phantoms, Sleeplessness, Ashes

Zurich.00:35am, on a rather usual and unusual monday night.
Just finished a movie I wish I hadnt wasted any time upon. Have opened my window to let the cold freezing breeze flow in, I am kind of sweating for an inexplicable reason.
Phantoms and sleeplessness, are so entwined, as lovers in a deathly embrace seconds before consummation.The question as ever remains is it the phantoms that chase me or am I doing the chasing. But today is not a day to delve into that.

I saw a lonely horse once, smoking a cigar sitting on a man of some years and riding away to glory. Then the other time is was a famished thin really thin rhino being chased on the streets by a man with one horn, right between the nose and the upper lip. I call these phantoms.
Often when I lay down on my back and wait for the sleep to come, I see or rather feel these phantoms. Sometimes they kind of disturb me, today is one such day.

What is it that my metaphysical sense communicates through these vivid pictographs. Is it that they carry a meaning in the womb or are they just another bastard child of an over conscious but hitherto restless mind.
I thought about the rhino phantom, well a rhino being chased by a horn, makes sense, cause I have often been a victim to my own inherent strenght. but why the famished rhino, I wonder. I guess it is about loosing your inner strenght and then finding a ravenous part of my ownself running for dear life by demons who scare it by visions of its own uniqueness.

Do i sound incoherent? Well somehow I have always found my lucidness of expression and ideas, disappearing when I indulge in a soliloquy.

Sleepless, I am often enough to call my self an irregular insomniac. Self indulgence and a few smokes and my eyes wouldn't just catch a blink into the early hours of the morning.
Ashes, well thats the one which binds the phantoms and the sleeplessness together, from the ashes of many dreams arise the phantoms of my sleepy conscience, the hurts and the unknown would have beens, conjure a strange cocktail of these logic less visions, making my mind a vaudeville slave and my heart the fluttering wings of a dying cricket.
I have no particular end in mind today, I just want to ramble on for a page, hoping that inbetween these senseless lines, somewhere I will stumble upon my enstranged lover and she will like old times,take me in her arms and carry me to the morning.
Alas, I dint find her,even in that shamelessly metaphorical and elaborate a sentence!

Continuing the incoherent flow of my thoughts, I want to talk about a nice little leaf I met today, I was as usual strolling alone on the streets, trampling the melting snow and deriving an unknown pleasure seeing something so white turning all muddy, when across it came.
It was quite the usual leaf, with a brown complexion and twisted back, being blown away by the picking wind. and then it came and just stuck it self on my chest, and said lonely stranger, why do you look so frustrated and morose, you think you got the short end of the stick? Well here I am flying uncontrolled, driven by this crazy wind who kicks me around so much, and still I am happy.
Well I said being blown around aint my idea of happiness, flying is good but being blown around, eh! I hate the thought of being driven by an all conquering hand, I only steer the courses I choose.
The leaf looked deep into my eyes and said well you know the small river under the bridge, it thinks it chooses its course too. The leave winked,just as the wind came and blew it over and so happily it soared on the coarse thrust of the sullen wind , while leaving it laughed and said, you know what you need, go down the square and fix yourself in the usual dark corner of that dingy bar and quietly down your crazy blues.

Brook and the valley gorgeous

Up in the lonely woods there is a dreary creek, where not a bird would ever sing, between the mountains oh so high and mighty, crashing on the heartless rocks, tumbling on a road to nowhere is me, just a small little brook.

I am a spectacle for some, trying to capture a moment in their lives and squeezing me between their cheery smiles, for them I care not, cause many shall come and gaze from afar and be so joyous just to see me twist and turn, shout in pain at the thrashing rocks and then just flow on.

But who am I? An endless beginning, to a vagabond journey. Why is it that I flow so, the mountains stand still and mock at me, the trees they never move an inch, but me I am just tumbling on. Why this endless churn, what is it I am trying to chase, where is it I want to go, whose shadow is it I try to catch only to find it another step ahead.

Once I met a wise old fish, she said oh little brook, why cant you see, you are just meant to flow. While parting she whispered about a thing she said she hate, it was called fate. Next day I slowed to catch my breath and there I met this drooping tree, while he joked how he trashed me dirty with his rotting leaves. I asked him what is fate, the tree grimaced and said to me it’s the chimera we conjure to give solace for what we can not accept. So I learnt that day that fate was all a lie, a falsehood that could never explain, why I had to flow on so. Some say I flow because the mountains are high and the valleys low and its called science. Well I say to hell with them, why should I flow because of them.

So you see, me little brook I know, destiny or science they don’t make me flow.

I flow for a reason, a reason I got to know.

Some time back I fell down a rather steep cliff, all in shock and spinning head, I felt a strange nothingness. Nausea of irrepressible churn burst through my heart, like that wolf I saw, dive on the hapless rabbit under the bush. Hate, love, pain and longing I never felt them all at once before, but ever since the sudden treachery of that pristine meadow made me fall, I lost the trust I had in the earth below. Well I know, most would say have trust in sky above, but me I see no one in the sky, this earth I feel and touch day & night, I had a trust in it but now it is gone.

All frothing and spewing I emerged from this fall and for once I saw the treachery of it all. I flow because I am made to flow, oh how I loved that mountain top, I would have stayed for ever more, but for this endless flow. I thought the mountain knew I had to flow and it would come along with me. But one thing I learned being a brook in this world, alone and alone is how you always move.

Once I thought, what are the maladies that trouble me so, interminable movement, restless soul and a brainless heart! Of them all, I know the worst, is the brainless heart.

I wish my brooky heart had a brain; which would put some sense, in now so gloomy and now a spring in the step, this meandering heart of mine. Oh stone hearted mountain and the misty meadow, how I long to be with you, but me I am just a brook, a fleeting someone, one moment I shine and then I am all gone. Will you even remember the small brook, who so touched and caressed you all, while you slammed and twisted and threw me around.

Strange are the ways of this world and stranger still that I got to flow, endless, endless, endless I flow. I know there is a reason for me, will I ever find that key, and will I ever see through the dark , when my soul will rest at last.

Ah no more of this ranting brook, for here it comes, it seems she beckons me with open arms, oh my valley gorgeous, if only you will let the small brook stay.