Strange Love
“Run!” She said.
“Run like you haven’t run before. Run till
your lungs clench your heart and your heart swallows the water from your
mouth. Run and don’t stop till your limbs are not yours rather, individual
states fighting for independence from the tyranny within and outside their
kingdom of anarchy.”
He
had stopped trying to make sense of what she said, these days. Literal meaning
was never her modus operandi and the more he tried to make sense of it, the
closer he seemed to reside within his palace of temporary pleasures and comfort
zones. Her presence had always been known to him but acknowledgement of her
conversational presence was relatively young. He still remembered the series of
first timid steps towards her which snow-balled to colorful missteps of
adventures, uncomfortable predicaments pinched with a wonderful sense of
rambling bliss.
That.
That, he figured was what scared him often. Often enough to run behind the
curtains of restricted consciousness at the slightest hint of trouble. This was
how he had also handled life for a long time that is, until he met his first
band of gypsies. But that’s a story for another day.
These
were the kind of private conversations he afforded himself when he felt she was
off discovering her secrets around the corner. However, he knew he was not alone,
even for those fleeting moments she was always there, encouraging, urging,
protesting, rejoicing, exclaiming the sweet release of everything he held
sacred and all, which he abhorred.
Chaos.
In my face.
Around my being.
All over my senses.
Infusing, Imbibing, Mutating.
Chaos.
In my face.
Around my being.
All over my senses.
Infusing, Imbibing, Mutating.
Chaos.
Childhood
comprised of corners laced with portals to a multitude of worlds. As he was tantalizingly
hooked on the printed words oblivious to the ‘life’ unfolding around him. His Parents
always worried that he would ruin his eye-sight, if he read so much under the
dim lamp, not that it mattered much to him. There were stories to be told and
adventures to be had and he wanted to experience them all. They were however
quite glad that this kept him out of trouble and considered him to be so
well-behaved with the small but significant exception. These exceptions which
were accompanied with earth-shattering tantrums towards the privilege of devouring
the birthday cake irrespective of whose it was. But these were aberrations and
in this culture of ours, a silent child is a good child. They still looked back
at that phase in time with a smile and a teary lump.
She
was back. Bounding and skipping with cart-wheels of explosive colors, ideas and
wonderful epiphanies. These epiphanies never ceased to excite her irrespective
of its scope, depth or implications on life. A life they were not entirely sure
as to which shade of grey, it belonged to. It never occurred to her rather, she
chose to ignore the fact that she may not have been the first to stumble upon
such ideas, or that this was all a process of life. It didn’t matter one jot
and he loved this about her, loved that no matter where they were or what they
were doing, this was living, this was the world and this was the universe in
all its glories and black-holes.
He
often wondered of the exact moment when he became aware of her presence. The
exact moment when he made that step to acknowledge her; what led him to that?
Was he sad, happy, non-committal, bored, apathetic? All he could recollect was
her presence. He felt she had always known and had bid her time waiting for the
moment, for the opportunity, always believing that while his consciousness
ignored, his subconscious knew.
Melancholy.
Cloudy Shiny Rain.
On my once-dusty parka boots,
Puddles of forgotten childhood abandon.
Slip in a hole, a friend to the flood.
Melancholy.
Cloudy Shiny Rain.
On my once-dusty parka boots,
Puddles of forgotten childhood abandon.
Slip in a hole, a friend to the flood.
Melancholy.
She
was a myriad of colour, a kaleidoscope of orgasmic emotions. She was his
darkest demon and his guardian angel. She was the music in between the breaks
of the story that she whispered and the dance they danced knowing they were one
and yet separate.
Life
wasn’t always easy with her though. Their hushed conversations, while loud
enough to shake the foundations of every belief, tended to spill out catching
an unsuspecting passenger off-guard. He could always side-step the awkwardness
of that raised eye-brow with a laugh and slapping his forehead followed by a
joke of early-stage Schizophrenia or an invisible friend that failed to move on
with age. More often than not, it worked and the stranger appeased whilst they
laughed in hysterics.
He
loved her. He’d had a few bed-warmers in years gone by and there were a few relationships
that had completely bewitched him and made him believe of a heaven in this life.
All the while, she had rejoiced with him and cried with him as they eventually
returned to the soil like a garden of lilies. But, she was there and in time,
they knew they would be okay. For, his loss was her loss and her epiphany was
his epiphany.
She
was his best friend and she was the other side to his coin. She was him and he
was her, he had always loved how he could see the other person’s point of view
and while it made it difficult to have a point of view at times, it was never
considered too big a barrier.
He
loved his imagination and it was only appropriate that she grew from residing
in a part of his head to metamorphosing into his entire being and loving him
back. She would always be there until the moment he breathed his last and
smiled that one last smile while they shared a cynically ironic joke that they
were convinced, no one had ever thought of before.
Shanti.
The rising sun.
Orgasm of color and splendor.
Everything will be okay,
with New dreams and Old hopes.
Shanti.
The rising sun.
Orgasm of color and splendor.
Everything will be okay,
with New dreams and Old hopes.
Shanti.
But for
now, he must ‘Run!’
---
This is the story of a young man not too unlike myself who lived in the clouds, printed words and his imagination. It is the story of a shy young man, who eventually realizes the existence of his greatest gift, how it metamorphoses into an entity (she) and his acceptance that while he may be alone, he'll never be lonely.
---
This is the story of a young man not too unlike myself who lived in the clouds, printed words and his imagination. It is the story of a shy young man, who eventually realizes the existence of his greatest gift, how it metamorphoses into an entity (she) and his acceptance that while he may be alone, he'll never be lonely.
