Monday, January 31, 2011
Love Burns
I sit and write this. This. And I'm the last fish in the universe i feel. I feel. So much. Like wind running beside some cave and echoing its hollowness. Like barefooted ghosts of clothes that we once wore. Like the shy disclosure on the lips of young love. Like the lost days when we were hunted by madness and despair. Like the fulfillment i saw in your toppling head on the pillow of the first sonnet you said to me. Lies are the most painful thing in the world when dreams are built on the beating drums of sand and paper boats in dry rivers. Its the most painful memory that brings a man to his knees and the woman too. Like a lightening blade between the shoulders. My chest hurts with so much crunching. Crunching of fingers under my teeth. And for the regrets that we have had, i will be sorry. For all the songs you gave me,i will mourn and for all the easy deaths in this world, I'm the only non-recipient. Because i have no creed for the absorbing of this pain. I have no strength. I am no warrior of madness or of the heart. Or of any soul that is left in a human being. I am only filled with words and words and words and words and my eyes that never let me sleep or breathe without taking your name. For i am a slave now. To eternal searching. Lonely in my skin of broken glass and pigmentation, some scars and the impression of your lips on my soul. When you sucked it right into your jacket.Your jacket, to be sold to another bidder of love. I am hanging there like a sliver. The essence completely concentrated in that coat of yours. In the threads of a careless amnesia that you cover your heart with. I have bled. I have bled each day with your smiles running down my eyes and i have bled from my throat, screaming. Screaming your name into silence. Open mouthed bleakness of an empty shell. This pedestal where i stand, precariously. Built by the visceral naivete of love, is just a paper of sadness, tilting each day towards its plummet into some cynical gutter of being. And i can say that I'm not proud. Not proud of my fear or love. Not proud of my mistakes and the things I've said. Or done in this landmine of a world. You will walk with hands holding you and kissing your gypsy feet. And i will crawl because i have no feet. Only knees and palms to find peace again. I will drag myself every day. Inch by inch into my little hole of peace. Small and imperfect, away from your world of beauty and myth and the pain of living. Your world is profound. Injected with meaning and the arms of a soul mate. My world is beautiful too in its own cradle, of unceasing fire. Love burns.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
7 comments:
"Is a burnt soul the rightful price to pay for naivety of believing that passion and simplicity exist in an omnipotent emotion? Yes emotion. Still lost for words to explain. Beauty. Complexity. Love. Like a sonnet of devotion. Like slaves to a greater good. Did your soul connect? In the wilderness of your dreams. In the vagueness of your words. In the realism of your feelings. In believing what you thought was simple, did you lose the innocence, so stuck in the cradle of hope. That rocks time and time again. Almost mocking you. Playing with you. Cause you give it the freedom to do so. When you lay in your bed and looked to your side, did it complete you? Did your illusion break in the bluntness of an action rewritten in history as an act of treachery? Promises were made to be broken. Words are spoken to sound soothing. Break the cycle. Don’t run to the other extreme because the passion is still alight. Thorns evolved to protect. Fires for warmth. But thorns still cause scars. And you dont bathe in a wildfire. Building a shield saves you from physical harm. But the inside isn’t self healing. When you let something penetrate, you don’t understand the depth it might reach. Instinct always win. Reason might hurt. But deprivation can kill. Slowly. Painfully. In your solitude, don’t fade away. In your cravings, don’t walk away. Words aren’t meant to portray empathy. They just breathe out. Your not alone."
PS: I dont mean to intrude in your sanctum. You write on a different level. Im not really a blogger. This is just a response
Dear Anonymous, thank you for your comment. I'm really grateful that you have taken the time to read the piece in its entirety. All the things that you ask the for in your comment, are as complex and as simple as the manner in which they are perceived or imbibed.
I appreciate that you have taken the efforts to question and counteract the cynicism in the piece; and in parts, i identify the emotion and thought-process with which you have injected your opinion. But the thing is, like i said earlier, the interpretations are as complex and simple as the direction of perception might be.
While i understand that you are speaking of optimism and faith, i really cannot, at this stage completely comprehend the existence or the source of your optimism because i do not feel that way.
Feeling is a very basic way of accumulating experience of an idea or object. And sadly for me, i have yet to feel the brilliance of that positive reality.
I would love to have a discussion about this with you, if you leave an email-id for me to contact you at.
Also, contrary to what you might feel,its not an intrusion upon my 'sanctum'. I respect most opinion whether negative or positive as long as it operates within the confines of reason (and not personal hatred for something i do not endorse overtly or consciously). So you're welcome to read and comment anytime.
Dear Juliet,
Perception. It leaves so much for granted. My words weren’t intent on pushing you to feel a sense of positive reality. Your words reflected nostalgia. But those are your feelings. My appeal reflected common ground. Souls get lost. Souls get burnt. Why do we wait? Watch patiently. Till seared through. The ashes are lost in a strong gust. You talk of simplicity and complexity, which are a true reflection of what we make ourselves. But can you find a solution to feelings? Tell me if the unseen rain dripping on you washes away the pain of trying to comprehend. I wasn’t trying to reawake you as a believer. Your apprehension is yours to keep. Sulk over. Cuddle with. Misunderstand. Dwindle over. My words should not reflect empathy.
Confused. So I push to know your subconscious. The cerebrum defines every movement. The cerebellum withholds feeling. Nascent. Private. Yours to share. Maybe left uncared for. By choice. Do not misplace a sense of solitude. In grief, we underestimate what we are told. Words are spoken. But self realization kills solitude. For unless we grow out, we wither. I intrude on your bed of thorns, not with the hope of snatching what’s yours to keep. Rather with the intention of sitting along and watching you. Intriguing. Evolving. Processing.
Pretentious. I might seem. But I believe. People after all are…. just people. I’m glad my words struck a bell. And I don’t believe sharing thoughts is ever a waste of time. The emotions I reflect are genuine. Yours to interpret. But I would be naïve to join you in your world uninvited and expect to be embraced. After all we come alone. And leave exactly the same.
I’m a vibrant blog reader in search of inspiration. I’d like to remain anonymous as long as you don’t insist. Simplicity. It leaves us unchallenged. This discussion can walk the line you choose. Drenched in unseen rain. The picture you draw is ever changing. Still incomplete. This is I hope.
Dear Anonymous,
...and so you have stumbled me upon the tower of babel. A plural tongued, monstrosity of ideas. An architectural metaphor for divine dismemberment of the thought-process.
While, as a blogger i now am,the natural endorser of a cyclic process of demand and supply of reading material, you are but one of the voyeurs of this electronic publication.
I will not insist on anything seemingly coercive. You can react and counteract with as many ideas as you wish, and i'll try and touch upon them as per my levels of agreeableness.
Yes, perception is subjective and does leave blank spaces within a context of many interpretations, and all your pointers about a sort of existential crisis that is created by the anti-thesis of ideas, internalized within us are taken. However, the dissection of each idea, each microscopic germination of an avalanche of a thought-process is a very herculean task. I choose to pick certain parts of it that are coherent to me.Certain "definable" traces of explicable reflections and articulations. So, yes it is an evolving process.
And you can choose your part or your seat. Under the guises you partake of. Space and time are touch points of interaction, relative in their meaning and intensity. Just confines and just, platforms, just existing. Nothing needs to be personal. Nothing solid. Nothing affective.Welcome.
Dear Juliet,
To be welcomed into the intangible is like walking through darkness. You can never really tell where you exactly are. But the unknown keeps you going. Idiosyncratic world. I take this walk. Random seeker. The overpowering world mocks me. But I’ve made my mind up. This journey is mine to take.
Impersonal seems a boundary. But that definition is discretionary. The demarcations seem unclear. But that widens scope. There will always be limits. Time and space will always define the framework. Intensity is periodic. But life unyielding. So we soldier on.
So you read through my simplistic jargon. Bound by a world where words are a reflection of people’s ideology. Their search for cohesiveness. An appeal to themselves. Are answers held in the poetic liberty we grant ourselves? Or is it just another ocean. Too vast for a few wasted drops to make a difference. The tides can be turned to our convenience. But what do you chase. Can it ever set you free?
I lie as a slave to words. Smiling. Dreaming. Interpreting. Understanding.
Ironic. That I look to them at a time when my universe seems sedated by the absolute antithesis of the creation within me. My thoughts seem counterfeited by a world intent on challenging my existence. Pure that is. The soul is part of a whole. Torn away. Battered. But bound to return. The path is dark. But strangers help me find my way. They guide me to the end. Whispering. We’ll be there. But I feel insecure. Apprehensive. I turn around and the faces disappear. They lied to me. I can’t turn back. I can’t transcend time. I won’t run into you again.
Yes. I was technically born to create. But my architectural senses aren’t intent on creating a web of thoughts to induce the curious. I tantalize. But a stranger looks through me. The genuine ones seem scarce. Lost under an avalanche of superficial expressions and misleading syllables. Tormenting. Shielding.
Will you believe when time comes again? When the tide turns. You don’t need metaphors to relive the moment. You won’t remember the sense that echoed through the past. You’ll jump into the cold waters. Your senses numb. Your mind thoughtless. The monsters within the waters will rise to strike. Can your defiance lead you on?
Insecurity breeds imperfection. But perfection seems so temporary. Seldom found. Even when you desperately search.
You walk towards a crossing. The road you take is the untried one. The temptation egging you on. The devil walking by your side. The sly smile. The irresistible grin. Your walking through. Ready to experiment. Embrace the world beyond. But come back he calls. There’s something you left at the crossing. The cornerstone of existence. The poor beaten down object. Mundane. Ignored. Even abused. But you walk on. It just seems too late. The moments gone. They’ve lost you again.
Dear Anonymous,
I feel that you're talking of the universal void and a sense of internalized schizophrenia that exists 'consciously' within some of us.
A duality of meta-physical existence, 'trying' to co-exist with the conditioned, civilized, chronological world that has created a womb for the 'sane', 'normal' or 'ordinary' individual. Nourishing the individual with value-systems, ideologies, folklore, mythology and morality. Its like a syllabus created for interpretation of human society.
And internalizing this condition is not always easy or preferable. However, i now feel that the world with all its myriad impossibilities and probabilities is a multidimensional being. Existing simultaneously, spontaneously and paradoxically, all within the same space-time continuum.
All these ideas and ways of living that are seemingly untouched by the 'real' world, are also a part of it. Are a part of the cosmic wavelength that exists, but is not touched upon by everyone.The feeling of being lost in the world as we perceive it with our encumbered senses, is frequent and stifling.
The idea of existence, of giving meaning to objects with words and articulation has been coded into our social DNA. And that is a great contention of grief to the childlike entity within us, a primitive, curios one, that is constantly being confused by meanings, definitions and contradictions.
All the dualities that you speak of- the intangible vs the physical world, meaningful articulation vs the POSSIBILITY of the existence of a different meaning, the obvious vs the curious, the genuine vs the superficial, metaphors vs verbs, insecurity vs perfection, all of these are constant dualities that feed off each other.
Even when we wish to forsake these dualities, we live inside them, only with different combinations and intensities.
The mind and body and our dual existence through them is an unexplicable chronology of ideas and events, while the interminable alternatives stand frozen in limbo, discarded or buried until useful. The known three-dimensional world is full of people with words and ideas and lost souls, all interconnected and yet never finding purpose as per their desires.
It is a mystery to me. The order of this dual world is a mystery. Its dimensional reality is sometimes staggeringly uncomprehensive and therefore some days and some moments, i jump naked into the tide of the subconscious, floating until the world's reality ushers me. When i get called back, i wear my real shoes and my real skin and mingle with the mundane and the profane.
Dear Juliet,
The duality of nature lies in its very right to protect itself from its own rogue personality. It plays countless roles. One lost in the other. A disease you term it. A tumor. Which seems to have evolved. Malignant in proportion. When the hope for recovery ceases to exist. You terminate. Creation must arise. Else we fade away.Like so many of our predecessors.
Your interpretation of human society seems infallible in form. And I don’t need to reaffirm your belief. Your words, expressive, wholesome and articulate in nature serve to throw light over the traditional, indecisive and anthropological need for Homo sapiens to work within a framework. Our actions seem super positioned by our need to exist as entities. You talk of a ‘real’ world, ignored and unknown to so many. Those who believe they have a place in that world seem restless at the thought of being out of their comfort zone. Their comfort zone it seems lies within the time-space continuum, again pre-defined by the omnipresent ‘society’.
Our doubts about ourselves lie within the need to find meaning to objects which we seem to think our illusive. This again we can blame on society’s inception of thought within us. Your thought process resembles an action junkie tied to a pole and jumping of a bridge. While he gravitates, willingly to his very own demise if not severe physical damage, the rope pulls him back. After all, the naïve refuse to reason out the complexity in death. Like the fools who put faith in its simplicity.
My curiosity pushes me to think that are well defined concrete world has meaning. But that meaning must be found from within our souls. My intrigue in this topic might feed of society’s strongly embedded beliefs within me. But I talk to you as a contemporary (forgive me for my presumption) in the ‘real world’. Spirituality has a scope that many refuse to comprehend, blaming it on faith and gods of enthralling forms. But communicating with someone who expresses emotion felt by a chosen few and thrown out by an even lesser number, I ask questions of your soul. You dont need virgin peaks or contemplative moments to find it. I ask, not as a seeker intent on finding its object. But a vagabond, living on the edge of ‘society’, till time reveals its own plans.
Your insistence on having the rope pull you back up seems understandable to say the least. After all, no one can run from what they are taught to be. Your thesis with regards to the duality principle reveals a pendulum intent on swinging with the utmost amplitude. Extremists find pain in pleasure and believe it’s a way of life. I envy and question them simultaneously. After all I seem intent on being a moderate. But every beginner must find level ground to walk upon, before he can run his path.
Your nakedness in the ocean of the ‘conscious’, seems flushed with its surroundings. For once I’d like to see if you can make this jump a little more painful. I know you understand that physical pain is temporary. For society, I leave you with Eddie Vedder’s words. They are simplistic in their grasp of the English vocabulary. but the meaning sears through flesh.
‘Society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me
Society, crazy and deep
I hope you're not lonely without me
Society, have mercy on me
I hope you're not angry if I disagree
Society, crazy and deep
I hope you're not lonely without me’
PS: i left a stanza post eulogy. to take it as a response to it would really be narrowing the scope of the former. so i leave it. to be torn to shreds.
Post a Comment