I wonder what a Bedouin sees in the sky. Is it hope, despair, or something else? Does the sun look bigger to an ant? Smaller to an elephant? Is the sky filled with colors yet unknown? With sounds yet unheard? Does it rain out of sorrow, or out of joy?
Midnight. A man of twilight years looks upon the sky, wondering if he could catch the days changing – today becoming yesterday, tomorrow becoming today…the mystery lying in the transition. Little did he realize that he was staring at the face of time, at the uncertainty of the lone certain.
The little girls lie down on the terrace floor, and stare upon the atmospheric ceiling. Clouds of all shapes, sizes, opacities dance; evolving into forms, into stories. Each sees something different in the very same sky. Within seconds, the stories change, moving like particles of dust suspended in the wind.
“The sky is a puzzle.”
“Look! There’s Voldemort.”
“Isn’t he the guy without the nose?”
“Yeah, but he has a nose. Wait no, it’s a Dolphin! No, a plane!”
“I see a raccoon.”
“I see an old guy with a long beard.”
“A Dolphin? How? Oh, I see it now.”
She searched for a place and time where the sea was red and the sky was grey. She yearned to find this piece of paradise that put her to sleep every night. It took her years to realize that the California she was searching for was in reality, another Kashmir.
— Ashraya Maria
Article 19 