Look inside.

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We stopped looking for monsters under our bed when we realized that they were inside us.

—Charles Darwin

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close your eyes

one. two.

close your eyes.

It’s here now
the night
like an impermeable blanket around our glass globe
its colour the deepest shade of ink
listen closely and you may still catch the whispers of the lost but
another eternity will pass before you can hear their sun drenched laughter again

it’s fading—all  of it, the sound of the wind, the green of the grass, the blue sky that could turn crimson—everything is fading away
watch carefully and your veiled eyes may still see, even fireflies could light the world up
but it’s fading—all fading, the song of the stream, the sounds of the sea, those crumpled tissues that hid away the drops of your heart in the corner of that diner—every bit of it is fading away
keep your eyes closed, let go, forget.
you can’t bear to watch the world fade away you close your eyes
and pretend
that
you are fading away.
feel the emptiness grip your soul, your heart indifferent,
even if crushed beneath the weight of the lies you just can’t let go
feel the cold starting at the tips, rising up, up from your fingers and toes and eyelashes and black lips—all of that warmth is fading, the flicker of your memories dying—every secret you ever had, unravelling and fading away

the world is painted in this colour now, and you can’t make out if it’s the moon or the raven or the tree you once sat beneath because all of it is fading, close your eyes and every single thing can be seen—fading—all of it

slowly

fading to black.

 

do you still think you can see?

open your eyes

three. four.

 

When I’ll Come Home

Someday I’ll come home

But not just yet.

I’ll be leaving soon,
for greener pastures

Going far,
chasing the horizon
I’ll soak in the sun
Lie on the grass
Listen to the waves
the lapping lullaby.

Someday, I’ll come back.

I’ll climb white peaks
I’ll dive deep seas
I’ll learn an obscure tongue
Try a soup suspicious
wear a dress ostentatious

But, someday, I will come.

When the sun colours me warm
When the seas impart their song.

When the gulfs glitter,
And the sparrows twitter,

When the palm fruits turn bitter.

When the Sun sets orange and red,
And the sands in pink and chrome are set.
When the flamingoes fly home,
And the winds blow North
When day’s symphony is gone.
And I know what it is worth.

Then the night’s silence
And the melody of the stars
will remind me,
Of greener pastures
Of sparkling streams
Of a brick chimney’s steam
Of you –
When in silence and in subtle murmurs
I’ll hear the breeze beckon me homewards

Your silent gesture

I’ll come Home.

Somethings, Nothings and ‘It’

Something and nothing
Somewhere and nowhere
Somebody and nobody
Sometime and never

You often wonder, why? the ‘why’ does not necessarily pertain to something specific, be what it may – a person, a situation, yourself. but there’s this soft, subtle, ‘why’ whispered in the all-consuming darkness, that only you are present to witness.

I hardly want to make a point here, more like rave and rant.

There have been a few things – some things that have left me at a loss, an existential crisis, I hardly complain as these things have let the brain in a constant state of furious overdrive. Then there is nothing(s), just like everything, a point in a vortex that keeps circling, on and on, never to really stop, is it then, is it just this? A circle, a slow, a fast, tumultuous whirlwind.

Sometimes you DO care, sometimes you only care, sometimes you do not care and sometimes you just DO NOT care. Perhaps it is because I try to read too much in between the lines but…I do see a difference between the four states.
Then there is nothing(s), and it’s only a product of overexertion or too much nonchalance, either way it does not really matter because there is nothing, and nothing matters.

But, if it matters, does it matter because you want it to matter so?
or
Does it not matter because you do not want it to matter? Is it an illusion? In that hypothetical context you’d argue that if everything IS an illusion, what is the point of it?like I mentioned before, I do not seek to make a point here, but to merely generalize.

Yep, I’m playing safe.
Hmm…I’d like to call it my Slytherin sense of ‘self-preservation
though I’m much more Gryffindor.

Once I had read an amazing piece:

There were four friends – Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody
Once a task was assigned to Everybody, Somebody, Anybody.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it.
Anybody assumed Somebody would surely do it and did not find it necessary to confirm.
Somebody, in turn, gauged that Everybody had to do it.
When the date of submission finally dawned the three of the four friends took to blaming one another
and out of the confusion a conclusion was then drawn that finally, Nobody had completed the task.

I read this quite some time back, years actually, but it stuck with me, you can probably see why.
Imagination is baffling, it scares me at times.

Picture this I, you, we are Somebody, you or I may be Anybody and we make Everybody.
Or just a Nobody, drifting along the fluctuating graph of time, that is clearly running out. But I’m not scared, I may have found a closure, a sense of an ending.
Anyway it’s all psychological .i.e it’s all in my head, whether it’s real? well well…what did Dumbledore say?

“Of course it’s happening in your head, but that does not mean it’s not real ” and Dumbledore is never wrong.


My muse is hiding

The alleyway was dark and dank, a centuries old cobbled path
that twisted and turned till it was swallowed by the profound dark
like an unwinding snake,the treacherous night shrouded the other end
from prying eyes.
The brick walls of the old architecture bared it’s broken bones and
the paint, peeling, like the skin from that of a leper
filth! filth everywhere.
cloaking the surround, emanating a wicked sense of foreboding,
like a deadly calm before a fierce storm.
the alleyway led on, innocent gestures concealing twisted desires and intentions
like a naught Emperor leading his lords to
‘the end’

When the lead is over, you turn,
as quiet as a black cat in the dead of this deceitful night.

There you’ll see, a place where:
wicked intentions, twisted desires and ends meet

A vision that confirms your greatest fear.

Well, ranting helps. Really. And, my muse is tempted to come out of hiding.