“What kind of idea
Does submission seem today
One full of fear
An idea that runs away.”
I went to her, poured my heart out. It was the hardest thing I had to do. Harder than facing my parents after getting arrested for drug abuse, but that’s a different story altogether. She heard me, she was all smiles. Then, she broke my heart. It was the only one I had got. I was a fool. I wanted to create a pseudo reality in which I could connect to another person. For the world is but dead on the outside. I see people and I see people laughing, and I see people smiling, baring their off white and yellow teeth in that plastic smile of theirs, and I cannot comprehend but the futility of it all. I thought that it would be good to connect, it would be good to get a hang of what normal humans feel, a psychological analysis in which I am the subject itself and I am the analyst. Their isn’t no conflict. I shielded myself from these before. For, paranoia, for the exile, is a prerequisite of survival. And I am nothing but an exile. I am a child in the body of a man. I make mistakes, but making amends without a repercussion isn’t allowed in the society we live in today. We try so hard to fit in, fit in the social pathos, make a name in something which we have created. Can the society exist without us? In trying so hard, we forget ourselves and this saddens me. People fighting over regions saddens me, people fighting over religions saddens me. Their exists a common misconception that people fight because of conflicting interests. The reality is quite the opposite. People fight because they want the same thing, the same piece of the cake. If they fight for dignity, or self respect, or just for the sake of fighting, it’s okay, but fighting over a piece of land and in which region it belongs, incomprehensible.
Coming back. Forgetting her will take time, I cannot hate her, try as I may, for when you try to despise the woman you love, the love becomes a cruel, solitary vice. The worst I can do to myself is have a conflict with my own mind. I have to have a clear vision and a clear mind. And the eye has to stay dry to see clearly.
I have visited those shoddy dark alleys where I can pay for flesh, feel the contours of the anatomy which they say is so desirable, but they never come close.
The things you lose forever- those are the things that stay with you.I won’t never judge her, because I believe that one should never judge a person, and certainly, never judge himself, before you have seen that person in all possible circumstances, before you have seen himself in all possible circumstances.
So what I remain with is empty handed truth. And. The only truth we have is the one we are capable of believing.
They say the truth shall set you free. I say there is nothing that enslaves you more than the truth. Truth makes you lose all your freedom. Accepting the truth implies the end of the dream, the end of hope, the end of journey. I was a dreamer, I wanted to understand the eternal question: What, after all, is love, and how much are we willing to pay for it?
After years of beating around the bush, I finally understood the question, the answer will require one more effort, one more life, one more starting from the scratch. I have to be born again. But. To be born again, you first have to die.
Tell me where are her words? My monochromatic boy, she might have had her little stories too.
“Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away there lived a young girl, whose hair was made of gold, the people saw her, oh how beautiful she was. She went to live in a beautiful house and all the people loved her and she was very happy, but the people in the village were very poor and every night they crept into the house, where the girl slept and they cut off a piece of her golden hair and they sold it for money. She’ll never even notice they said, and so all the gold was gone from her head. And the people said, oh she’s not beautiful and they took her away and drove her into the street and she went away. She never came back and people got hungry again and went to the beautiful house looking for gold but there was none there.”
the boy can sure be monochromatic, but she is pretty kaleidoscopic, you know. :}
Was she the goose which lay a golden egg each day till they decided to cut her up into minuscule pieces? Did they eat her then?
She thought she could scream, or maybe, sing and let her hair grow back, blacker than the nights which nurse their inanities and little beliefs.
I think she will devour them. She? Not the demur she. And no, for once calling her a witch or burning her at the stake won’t work.
Or maybe she is a pretty, innocent lass. I shall not complicate things. Each color can be a new or old step.
but , she liked her hair golden, lady! black and white is for the ones with a limited vision, she, though, saw the world with different eyes.
so different that she rejected everyone who loved her. and the innocence got the better of who was meant for her.
she meant no harm. but in her wake, she wrecked havoc on everyone who held her close.
and the one who couldn’t live without her wrote this monologue.
Mind blowing stuff, Daaku. Love it. 🙂