A 4 a.m. composition

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At 4 in the morning,in a bleak hostel room with sleep all around me,I sit up with a thought to write.
Write what? Ask swimming eyes and they would say sleep.
And i can think of the only thing that was present in abundance at that time. Life.
Snoring and sleeping,with half open mouths and unfinished dreams. And the strangeness of attempting to put it in words.

Life is strange.
At times, it will caress you,like a mother strokes her newborn. Softly,with a just audible lullaby. You will feel at home,with unmatched calmness.
At times, it will test you,like rough waters do to a newly crafted ship. Waves upon waves,higher and higher still.

If we did not know the love of life,perhaps we might not suffer from hardships. Because we long for it. We long for that caress,in the middle of the storm. With the forecastle lashed upon by frigid oceans of misery, we ache for that moment of peace.
But the love is what keeps you going. Tempering you,not with a soft caress, but with blows having the capacity to end your misery. You withstand everything because you know that better fate awaits.

It makes you suffer, and it makes you bail yourself out.

Life is beautiful, but in its own strange way.

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