Arziana

Note:- Well this piece of fiction If I could call it came out of nowhere, I have never really written any fiction. But I was quite apprehensive about posting this since the content was not my usual and well… Do let me know if you have any thoughts on it.

Arziana

She sat at the table by the side of the rise window, eyes penetrating the dusk settling over the sea waves. She and sea had a connection which ran deep.  And almost jealous of it as a sister would be, wanting to meet the horizon like it did.  Pondering over what lay beyond, just the sight of magnanimous ocean awakened in her a feisty vigor, undefined dreams and the sense of a world, a life of umpteen possibilities, lands unknown beyond the reach of the eye, yet to be devoured and conquered in her eyes.  It infested in her an impulsive zeal to rise above herself and connect with the soul of the mysterious delusional and yet unnervingly ravishing universe.

The high tide that rose with the moon arose in her soul a turbulence of reckless unwonted sensations. She drank her wine as the sultry breeze wiped aside the locks of hair that trailed down her nape; fell across her face, a face that was sensually striking, sweet, and intelligent yet gave not a hint of her thoughts to even the keen, engrossed observer.

Another evening, the sun had set and her lonely soul dreamt alone. She dreamt of those moments lost in the sands of time, dreamt of a passion that would take her on a ride galloping to lands of wilderness. A passion that could burn her and make her feel alive, like the waves that danced seeming to entice the loose sand on one end and the high horizon on the other.

The night, held her hand as she lay on the sand lost in the waves,

Held captive by the moon’s seduction of the sea, the tides that rose touching the sultry air,

Drawn to the moon, the darkness in its light and the twinkle in its shine,

Her breath hitched as she felt a yearning wash over her,

Her heart craved for a closeness that had yet evaded her on her wanderlust,

She was well versed in the language of pain; she had crossed paths with sweet beauty of it,

And knew that every living being lusted for pain, lusted to be destroyed by what they called love,

The night and the world held is secrets to its bosom, and she was mesmerized by what lay beneath the veil of mere mundane life, the intricacies of love, hate, desire, secret cravings that electrified the air unknown to world awake in the day.

She lived and traveled alone, disappearing to places where no one knew her. Every few months or a year at most her bags would be packed to embark on another soulful journey to a strange culture and a land of anew people. Assuming a new identity and unshackling self from the previous bonds each time. Her freedom was her most valued and guarded asset, though it came at the cost of unsatiated lone yearnings that usually lay dormant but rose to the surface as it did this evening.

Today evening, she lamented and brooded lost in melancholy thoughts. And her name was Arziana, her true name that is.  A name that drew attention owing to its mix of west and east making it other worldly just as her aura was. Arziana knew not what her soul searched for, but knew that she hadn’t crossed paths with phenomena or the noumenon yet.

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Categories: life | 3 Comments

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3 thoughts on “Arziana

  1. I do like it. It reads like your poetry. Like your poetry I could see and feel her thoughts and emotion.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks a lot Trent.. 🙂

      Like

      • I don’t want to impose on your time, but your story that reads like a poem reminds me that a few weeks ago I tried to write a story that read like a poem. The story sprang to mind whole. I used a butterfly to illustrate it, which was funny since you posted a picture of a butterfly the same day. If get a chance, take a look at “The Jungle of My Dreams” and let me know what you think. Don’t worry – it’s very short!

        Like

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