I turn and reach for the phone
The light shocks the sleep out of my eyes
It’s 3:42 am and the world outside is as
Dark as dark could be
The phone tells me it’s Sunday already
But is it really?
It was dark when I went to sleep
On an ordinary Saturday night
And it is the same dark
Which surrounds me now
When did Saturday and Sunday change hands?
Do they have a defined process?
Is it documented and verified by cosmic powers?
Is it periodically checked and reviewed by superiors?
How does the transition work?
Does Saturday box all his
Baggage and hands over to Sunday?
Does Saturday switch off while
Sunday switches on?
Does Saturday serve his notice period?
Does Saturday say to Sunday — this
Is all the darkness I could
Handle, now it’s your problem; I’m outta here
I don’t know
It’s dark outside and my wife is snoring gently
Maybe my wife would have the answers
But she’s asleep
Peacefully, thankfully
If she were awake she
Would have asked me to
Go back to sleep
She says I think too much about work
And too little about myself
Do I?
I don’t know
It’s dark outside but some birds are busy chirping
I wonder if they saw the day change
I wonder if they saw something spectacular
And are now busy discussing the impact
It would have on the overall economy
I wonder if my eyes will ever see anything spectacular
Nothing spectacular has ever hit them
Nothing yet, but I am hopeful
If my wife were awake
She would have told me that
Everyone gets what they deserve
That what is meant to be will be
I wonder if darkness was meant to be
This darkness — this which envelops me
Like a ghastly blanket
Did it have a schedule handed out?
Is it merely following orders?
Did someone write this in its destiny?
I let out a yawn
Darkness has that effect on me
Maybe somebody wrote that yawn in my destiny
Somebody with powers enough
To establish and run the universe
Would have enough powers to
Dictate the lives of ordinary human beings
I feel like a dumb chatbot
Responsible for handling customer queries
And providing them with the best possible
Response based on pre-defined codes
An existential crisis hits me
Nothing spectacular though
Many such crises have hit me
At such odd hours
Maybe whoever wrote my destiny found it
Amusing to hit me with an existential crisis
At this time of the day when all is dark and quiet
While my head is ruptured with endless thoughts
Whoever he or she or it is
Must have had quite a chuckle when
It must have been written in my destiny that I will
Contemplate the creator’s existence at 3:49 am
On an ordinary Saturday night/Sunday morning
I wish he would have written something spectacular in my life
I don’t know what spectacular even means anymore
Maybe I already have experienced spectacular things but never bothered to see them as such
This life — the mere fact that I was born is spectacular, isn’t it?
We seem to take that for granted
I have taken it for granted all my life
I have gotten wet in the rain
I have felt the summer rays hit my skin and warm my soul
I have seen what autumn does to leaves
I have watched the snow turn the world white
I have fallen in love
I have got married
I have seen ants scurry around my feet
I have found a job after going through the horrible ordeal of an interview
I have been promoted
I have moved countries
I have spoken languages
I have had dreams
I have had nightmares
I have stayed awake all night
I have contemplated the creator on a Saturday night/Sunday morning
Whether or not he or she or it is real
Is not within my comprehension
It’s 3:52 am and
I am in the dark
Frank Solanki 