Boredom

By Shaikh Aafreen

Boredom is asking me things and I ask in return: “should I? Should I not? Should I? Should I not?

My time spent on boredom—that is a part of my life—floats into the deep blue space, it is haunting; causing breakages into its bones and cartilage, from its mouth rises dischronia. Sleeps in the off-white, deep oceanic space. Smells of nothing. I think it should carry a scent: noticeable, recognised. By all the laws of chemistry it should smell of decomposing matter yet it evades logic, reality. Laws made by intelligent, great minds don't work in this space (dream), it refuses hundreds of compendiums, lays itself out of order, becomes the ruin of numerous concordance. By not being in a state of motion it contradicts the act of creation—creation consists of efforts and sounds and vibration, some or any form of movement. Boredom creates without all this, with stillness it creates something that can be insignificant, inconsequential but never meaningless. A small simple thing shining in the eyes of those appreciative of its gossamere nature.

By Shaikh Aafreen