I Dream....
As I see myself at this very moment, I am running, in a long dark tunnel, the end of which is beyond my vision. It is only something I can hope and pray for. But the question is whether I should or not. I don’t know what I am running from. Am I in refuge or still killing myself in search of it. I keep running, from an unknown enemy, one I cannot see, just feeling its bloody existence all over me.
After running for a distance too great to retain in count, I see the edge of the tunnel, but here I am posed with another question. Should I escape this place to seek refuge from the enemy in here? Or should I stay to protect myself from the real threat that is beyond these concrete boundaries.
As I stand here, gazing into the ray of light that comes from a distance, I feel more than what may be called curious and scared at the same time. My mind and heart have parted ways and both contradict each other at every point at this occasion, yet none of them has reached a firm decision.
In an unwarranted move, I turn, involuntarily, probably after reaching the unknown conclusion to retain this level of safety, and am faced with what I may call the consequence of my decision.
A sudden rush of flaming hot air brushes against my face and I scramble to hide myself from the stinging pain. Tripping upon something I cannot see, I am now falling to the ground. Even in mid air I feel my helplessness as my muscles have frozen in this blazing heat. How I long to fall and reach the ground. The distance feels endless. I am in limbo. Falling, yet not fallen.
Moments feel like ages as I continue to move through this blank and empty space, without reaching any destination. It is a feeling of being a slave to an infinite number of gods, each equally disappointed at your behaviour and calling you for a friendly lecture. Such is the fate of my indecisiveness and uncontrollability.
It takes just a slight bang on the head after the fall to realize that I have been dreaming again. I have fallen from by bed and am now wide-awake. Staring into the darkness of night I feel the fading away of sleep. With every passing moment my senses feel clearer. I can now feel the wetness of my clothes as they cling to my skin. I have been sweating heavily, even though the air conditioner has been busy cooling the room for over four hours now.
I stumble to recollect myself, after what felt like the reality of my own existence. I tried hard to regain my normal vision after spending hours asleep, my eyes were finding it difficult to adjust to the darkness. As my eyes clear out, I slowly make out the familiar objects that surround me. The single seater sofa with its back against the wall, the lamp by its side and a couple of bottles of water next to it. A few feet away, the refrigerator, humming away into the darkness that surrounds it, and here I am, thinking of what to do. A mind, as blank as clean white canvas, waiting for something to be painted, again.
The Time has Come...
Today I am but a grain of sand in this vast expanse of time. I feel desolate, destroyed, bit by bit, inch by inch, atom by atom. What seemed to be once a resilient force against the ravaging tides is now dust.
I am smoke, the very truth of my existence laughs at me as I try to comprehend the shape of my being. Those with whom I once placed my trust in, those that I felt privileged to be amongst, have changed their faces. Chewing savagely into my skin, my body, my soul, I continue to watch in silence. So strong is the hope that things will change that I have refused myself the right to protest and protect.
As my organs are torn apart from each other, I watch, in absolute silence and horror. The rage inside me mounts with every passing second. Knowing that any cry of resistance will be futile, I hope to maintain my state, while living, till a Samaritan soul passes by.
The question is, how do I know that my saviour has not been infested with this venom. The only option for me is to wait and see. All I can hope is to come out of this mixed up ball of yarn, just that the yarn is now barbed wire, tipped with poison all throughout.
I am choking, silently, within my own soul. My pain cannot be seen, except fort those that wish too open their eyes, minds and hearts to the surrounding world.
Even as I type this, I feel the poison creeping into my system, asphyxiating the very roots of my origin. Such is the state of senselessness around me that even if anyone reads this memoir of agony, hoping for a reaction would be extremely optimistic. The fact is who in his right mind would care to read this? Of course any one can read anything, per-se, but how many people actually read something, with all intention to understand the purpose of a written line. How many long to understand the depth of a single expressed emotion? How many see more dimensions than one in the realm of expression? We can all appreciate art because it decorates our walls, but do we really understand or see the tears of the artist as he decorates his canvas with them?
I am still waiting, and I know that it will be long, much longer than I think, much longer than you can imagine. In pain, a moment takes eons, and in minutes, the world, as we know it, can come into existence, and then annihilate itself. I, on the other hand, have more than a lifetime to wait for. How many macrocosms will walk the path of birth, evolve, thrive and end in front of my very eyes, I have yet to see.
Walking Along....
Today as I walk, the earth beneath my bare feet slowly bites into my skin, with every step I take, I feel slightly consumed, consumed by the earth. The earth is my soul, I am part of it, consciously or not, I am always blending into it. Slowly and steadily, I transform into what I will end up as, accept it or deny it, worm-food. I must acknowledge the fact that all the time I spend treading on this earth, I do not feel the pain of those upon whom I set my foot on, where I will eventually be one day. I have tried to avoid this fact, not because I don’t accept it or hide my face from it, but because whether or not I destroy all the time that I have in this world thinking about it, it is bound to happen. I feel I would rather be better off thinking about myself and making things easier for others, as that is how I seek refuge from the invisible wound that I will one day succumb to.
The pain is insurmountable, beyond any physical location or definable reason. It starts and ends all over the body, tearing through my brain everytime. It starts as a rush of blood that exceeds the capacity of my veins, pushing hard on the walls to relieve pressure. The pressure is offloaded against my innocent little mind, subjecting it to more pain than it can bear, causing me to die again and again, just to relive the agony that comes with every rush that drives through.
I Wonder...
I wonder if I am who I am, or at least who I think I am.
I wonder at what I am, at my self, is it the same as I perceive it from this vantage-point?
It all looks good from this side of the eyes, but how would I define good to justify an object I sight? What is the criteria for good? Or at least being allowed to exist in this macrocosm of chaotic principles?
Why am I here and what is the true image that represents my existence. Is it that which I see with these eyes that are deceiving to the extent of seeing what they wish to see and passing over the rest, or, what others at least claim to see and no one has the truth to what has been seen.
Relying on another individual is as fatal as relying on yourself. You trust another person with your truth, lies, secrets, fears, hopes, pains, joys, loves, hates and your life. in short, you have just given another mortal the capacity to take your life away without any justification.
But what of life itself? Is it as beautiful and complete as we see it? Or is it a mere pigment of our collective imaginations. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. What I find appealing in this world could be just as repulsive to the person next to me. He might even be thinking of a plan to get rid of me this very instant, while counting the number of times I inhale and exhale, hoping each time that the next would be the last. I might be the most repulsive thing in this universe as he sees it and the person behind him may simply want to protect me with the lives of a hundred men.
This difference of opinion baffles me at times. If humans are all the same, and each one of them deserves to survive, then why this difference of opinion and why this policing across the globe. Let all that can be let loose; be loose to see how long this blood bath lasts before all is quiet on this front and those beyond it.
Is this world we live in really something that is the way it is seen or just another perception that has blinded our eyes. Bound by the self-made laws of physics and mathematics, we proudly celebrate our so called successes and forget why strive to make a breakthrough that will do nothing but add to the ocean of troubles that are already closing in on our lands. The problem is that we keep defining laws for ourselves of which we do not know the actual strength. All of these are mere limitations on our own imagination, in our own little worlds.
We have a great world a head of us, or is it another of those ideas we dare to conjure up in order to feel powerful. We describe it in our own particular way to make people see what we want them to see. And for those who dare to differ, are attacked by accusations and branded heretics.
Since the day crimes were defined, man found purpose to commit them, an expression of being free and beyond any authority. The minute we make our wealth so important as to cry when it is removed from our possession, we allow thieves to steal from us. If we only shared enough with others as to be equal with them, there would be no thief, no theft and no grief, no sorrow and no purpose.
One Night....
Days have gone by, nights have faded away into the bright sunlight, faces have changed, people; well that is a different matter altogether. It is difficult to determine just how same each person really is.
It takes a great volume of conviction to change, whether it is oneself, or those that one is attached to in a bond beyond material or physical constraints. Innumerable moments of pain pass like centuries of endless agony. Each second, the pain multiplies by a factor of infinity, only to cause another death the very next instant.
Infinite deaths, each followed by a rebirth, only to fall back, deep into the arms of death once again. The cycle is endless, endlessly unbearable, endlessly beautiful, each one worth dying for and coming back to life once again, only to experience the ecstasy of death over and over again.
We blame those around us of succumbing to the changes of life and attitude as time goes by, notwithstanding the fact that we too are part of the same society and race called humanity. We are bound to change, and those that don’t are the ones that end up all alone in the world, hardly a soul to care for them, to ask them their health, to sit down next to them and exchange a few feelings.
Life as I feel it with my inner soul, in an environment like this, is by no means less than a miracle. I just for miracles such as this more often.
A Drop Of Fire....
Today as I stared into the hills ahead, I could feel the dew in the air descending across the landscape. The faint fragrance of the moist earth in the air created a nostalgic feeling that took me to days that once were. A battle arose from within myself, my will on one side and instinct on the other. Eyeball to eyeball against myself, I felt my existence being torn to pieces slowly and painfully from within. How I longed to escape from the past but in vain.
As I closed my eyes for a brief moment, I felt myself being sucked into a vortex of my own fears. The darkness in my eyes was replaced by a purple mist that forced my eyes shut for the longer period than one would normally keep them. But as soon as I opened them I saw myself in the same place that I was earlier. Normal as it may appear logically, but for once I felt a superior force transporting me as my eyes were closed. I was surprised yet relieved to be in the partial comfort that I took from knowing my whereabouts.
I raised my head slowly, to look at the hills ahead. The mist was fading away rapidly to reveal the landscape that I had spent my childhood within. The hills covered with grass that was green beyond comparison even though the trees around me were beginning to show signs of fall approaching. The colour of the leaves had slowly moved from bright green to a mild yellow, revealing what was inevitable.
I forwarded my hand to touch a leaf and as I felt the texture of the fractionally decayed leaf still blooming on the tree, I was gratified at nature’s principle of support to the last moment and pitied the cynical and selfish attitude that exists between us.
It was at this point that I noticed an odd feeling gaining strength within me. Deja vu. I was in the middle of a process that was performing itself through me and even though I knew what would follow I was helpless against its force. I was merely a silent organ to the orchestrated execution of a script that had already been enacted.
Enslaved by the force I turned around to see my house in the distance. A beautiful oak cottage that I called home and had spent my childhood days in. I wept at the thought of what was to come, yet there was nothing I could do. I looked down on the first true sign of autumn, a dried leaf in the grass, and as I proceeded to lift it, I felt a drop of water on the back of my neck. It had started to drizzle. The leaf lay still in the moist grass that by now shone with droplets of water, it too giving a space to the win of freshness that had come through. The rain bringing a revelation of rejuvenation and rebirth, but the leaf has nothing to rejoice except the calm cool drop of water that had nestled upon it.
It was this moment that I dreaded the most. Slowly I raised my head to see what I hoped not to see, but what was there had to be seen. What had happened years ago could not be undone today. With tears in my eyes I saw my house aflame.
As the smoke rose in the wet air and the raindrops flew across it, I saw my dreams, aspirations, hopes and loves annihilate into the abyss and disappear forever. I was destroyed once again, once too many times. The pain and agony had by now become unbearable. What had to be done was beyond my capacity to comprehend. I stood there, silent as a statue, staring into the plumes of fire that rose from my dreamland. Motionless and weeping, I looked at myself. Bound by the frames of time I am restricted only to my own imagination. All else is just on the course of time. Unchanged, immovable and inscribed in to the tides of time.
I am but an instrument that is subjected to this incomplete cycle of action again and again, without purpose, without gain, without a reason. Yet I am where it wants me to be. A slave to time. We are told that we are only as strong as we aspire to be, but I hoped, dreamed and strived to escape this cycle of pain. Ironic, I am still here. Ironic, I know I will never succeed. Ironic, I still dream.
