Oneirism

It was the secret in her eyes that I could never derive.
Derided and disregarded.
But I couldn't twitch a brow.
I was a mute watcher.
As I saw her and everything else burn to flames.

But was I juvenile?
For I didn't see it coming,
until it charred everything.

She trembled, she got swayed
"It's not the right way forward", I said.
But as usual, she did what her heart told her
As she dragged me along.
"The bus will be here shortly
hop in, never look back", said she.

"You will come with me won't you?" I asked.
Her silence couldn't keep the tears from cheating her eyes.
"My heart lies with you!" protested I,
"And the world is too big right now.
let me grow my feet a bit here.
I'll go away when my time would be near."

"Don't let emotions fool you", she said
"There isn't much to do now,
your work is done here.
Pack your memories,
and tuck them neatly somewhere inside your head".

"Run away from this house of burning ire
Because it is bound to fall soon.
Forget me like you've forgotten all your estranged lovers.
And hope we meet some other day,
in some other world.
Where there won't be a house,
or a name,
and a responsibility of keeping it".

Rape Nation

Yet again the Phallus has risen

In bestial proportions

To reclaim the throne

And to remind its benefactors

The oath that led to an understanding

Between The Instrument 

and the one who inherits it-

The oath to rule the Virgin Hole;

The oath to skew clarity of many.

For the key to unholy secrets

Dangles between fingers and legs

of those who write the future, present and past

for the rest of the lot.

Through millennia of mind control

the Phallus and his inheritors

have bind her with the decree of ownership

of the Virgin Hole

for she is a chaste soul; 

the one who strayed; slaved;

she is the virgin; the temptress;

she could be corrupted;

yet she could corrupt.

she is the charmer;

face that launched a thousand ships;

adulteress; the one who turned to stone;

she-devil; witch; slut; whore; 

she who gives into temptations easily; the immoral bitch!

she must be forced to believe and give in

to the existence of the decree 

of the rightful ownership by Phallus 

of the Virgin Hole, as the final law 

that exist anywhere over the land of the earth.

if she resist,let she be conditioned until she becomes righteous again

if she resist still;
she must be ostracised from the fold

and if she resist Still;
she must be sent back into land from where she came once

with others like her, whose unholy blood still reeks from all of our hands.

For this is the everlasting truth;

truth that have been the same since the birth of civilisation;

truth that doesn’t seem to change.

and here I stand at the cusp of human capability

the so called modern man; the king of the earth

ever so persistently exploring the universe

the most intelligent organism yet known;

yet my hands reek of cold blood

yet the Phallus controls me

So am I really who I think of myself to be-

Civilised and Free?

The Black Lodge

Under the sycamore tree
Where the music never stops
I met a little man and a giant
not long ago from today.
Their faces were made of masks,
the masks lied on the floor.
The floor was a molten chessboard,
Smudged by the perpetual heat
which the infernal floor breathes

Somewhere now afar,
The woods whispered a song,

In the voice of my estranged lover

And the red curtains fall

When the lights are drawn
The music continues playing
And the show goes on.

The men spoke at length,
In an incoherent tongue

The dwarf jiggled while they spoke

on the sound of music that played

From a place that seem far away.

And with him, the walls of red doth swayed
As nonchalantly as the little man in the little red tuxedo.

Perpetuity was actuality

And music was as much repetitious

As the gyrations of the little man.

A woman,
dressed in darkness of a moonless night

Came from behind the walls that swayed.

She whispered in my ear,

'There's a killer on the loose

He resides within these walls of red.
We are all his prisoners;

Trophies of his loot,

We can't leave, we can't breathe The air,

beyond this Black Lodge of nightmare.
He eagerly awaits your audience
And the one who brought you here.'

So I walked through the floating red wall-

Into oblivion

where the Master Puppeteer dwells.

Here, in this land of eternal sleepers,

the music stops, at last.

When the creatures from the end of time 

ascend from abysmal low
to take away my shadow

leaving me behind, lone;
ready to be served
to the Master of Souls.

Inspired from the last episode of David Lynch's Twin Peaks.

Strangers of the Night

We walk through time,

as night descend under our eyes

We see the world from a place afar. 

this is where horizon blurs, you told me once.

this is where I found you once.

we chase the greys away,

two strangers of the night.

as we swim together through time's fabric

reminiscing stories old and new.

the world, in utero of oblivion-

of the strange alchemy of words;

of desires; of uncharted wishes;

of the ocean of memories that we visit.

two pilgrims on a path astray

waiting for the rebirth of night

waiting to be lost and 

to be found, once again.

Man

Into dust I’ve mixed

the blood which once belonged,

to the son of man.

And now I stand vehemently 

on shoulders of my ego so giant

Above all I shall rise

and within me shall thrive

the primordial lust to survive.

Conquer that which shall be conquered,

destroy those who deny my might.

March forth in this unending conquest,

as man plays dice

kill or be killed

in this battle of a better mankind.

Cocoa Love

Her intoxicated eyes,
tries to shy away from his sight.
She takes out a chocolate,
undresses the dark cocoa.
For she loves to consume
dark, bitter things.

He could murder anyone to have a bite.
Chocolate has always been his weakness.
But he realizes her hunger pangs.
He kills his temptation instead.

But just as when
he was about to flush out
craving of a delicious cocoa's bite
she whimsically offers it to him
along with a sweet surprise-

By the end of the bite
her tender lips waited eagerly
to touch his craving lips.
And suddenly it seemed
the dark cocoa
was the sweetest chocolate
he could ever find.

The Great Cedar-Wood Room of Purgation

What if senses leave your body? What if no energy opposes your own?

Imagine a Wooden Room in wilderness. It’s night and it's humid. The windows are neatly shut, just as you had specifically asked. You entered the room with a request to seal yourself off from this world. You noticed raindrops slithering like snakes on a window, leaving their trails behind. As far as your faint memory goes, rain has been falling ever since. There is an oil-lamp dying on the table whose absence no one will mourn. By that lamp lies a book, The Book of Living & Dying. You weren't mentioned in the book. You weren't supposed to be here in this form. You realize you've been transformed from solid human body to a thin gossamer state after you've entered this room. Your human consciousness is still intact though.

Like a wisp in a storm, you fly around in the Cedar-Wood Room. You don’t have anything to hold on to. When you wished to be free you didn't vouch for being liberated from physical laws. You didn’t fathom the immenseness of friction in the functioning of everyday life. This is a different ball-game altogether now, and you are in this alone. You’ve always been alone and you know it very well. Whenever you’ve found yourself in situations like these, you’ve thought of a suitable audience; a worthy accomplice à la Dr. Watson or Lakshmana; or maybe a beautiful curious admirer who would gape in awe like a kid, whenever you return with your bag full of experiences to share. But all this seems wishful thinking now. You are eons beyond that world and that life now.

You had switched on the fan when you had entered the Great Cedar-Wood Room. You were skin and bones at that moment. Probably the switch of the fan triggered your transformation into this vaporous state. Nevertheless, the fan was switched on and you are nothing but gas. You are at the bad end of the deal as you notice the vortex created by the fan is ever so slowly pulling one of your loose ends towards itself. It sways hypnotically towards the vortex as if it’s dancing on some snake charmer’s tune. You try to resist, but in vain. Your body (or whatever that it now is) touches the blade of the fan. You watch helplessly like a mute spectator as the fan's silver blades engulf you completely and pierce through your being. But they don't annihilate you. Nothing gets annihilated. Not in this world; neither in the world of which you were once a connoisseur.

You diffuse into a billion pieces. Every cell in your body breaks free. As if the secret glue that held them together earlier has become powerless in this realm. You occupy the volume of the Great Cedar-Wood Room now. Your cells are everywhere. You can feel the room; every inch of it. But this feeling can’t be described through five senses that we adorn; it’s completely new. You also see little holes in everything that’s kept here.  It’s something that can’t be seen through human eyes, its shape is far too complex for a simple instrument like an optical eye to recognize. What kind of a room is this? How could all this be possible! You wonder with great amazement when suddenly the words written on the signboard, which you saw in the front-yard on your way in, strike your head (metaphorically).

THE GREAT CEDAR-WOOD ROOM OF PURGATION

You realize why this room seems so familiar. Everything you once owned is kept here: Toys from your infant days to the toys of the days when you realized man’s infancy of knowledge in the vast cosmic space.  You start to feel the experiences of every inanimate object that occupied this room; you started to experience its history. From the old tattered carpet on the wooden floor that was sewn on an ancient hill of Israel, to the bottle of wine made from crushed grapes a century ago in the Church-owned vineyard on a serene French countryside. You realize the holes you saw in every object were actually time-portals that took you to the very beginning of the creation of that particular object over which that hole was placed. You rejoice when you see how a villager in 15th century made the ancient mask on the highest peak of Bhutan using the skull of a male Takin. He had made it to ward off evil spirits and bad luck until you bought it off from his great great-great-great-great grandson who just wanted to swap it for some quick buck.

Every part of the room has a story of its own and its story conjoins itself to yours, when you had decided to adorn your life with them. This room is a collection of your memories and your personality. It’s what you owned, to help you see through the human world. You never paid attention to them before. Not until today, when your disjointed cells interacted with them.

But does it really matter? All this adoration of humankind for materialism; lust for commodities that tend to define us, make us who we are. In the end was it really feasible? Was it really worth running for our whole lives? The adulation towards ‘stuff’ that could make our lives convenient in its presence; our zeal to buy, trade, mortgage, lend time of our lives to build a room, apartment, duplex, home, penthouse, mansion and then trade even more to fill it with the objects of our desire. Does it make a difference in the grand scale of things? Did we really stop and admire the beauty of the world? While we were busy minting paper with imaginary value did we really appreciate the elegance with which everything came to being? Are we doing justice to million years of evolution? Are we really focusing on the real questions, the questions of our existence and our role in the universe? Or are we wasting our time, in buying or supporting the agents of Maya (illusion)? 

There was no price on your head, there was no entry ticket, and it was just out of curiosity and intuition that you’ve reached here. ‘You asked the right questions’; someone had assured you before you entered this mysterious Room of Purgation. But now, when you are here, your head throbs with the flurry of questions that have suddenly popped all around you.

You spend almost an eternity pondering over these questions and hopping from one time portal to another until you grasp and consume every tiny particle that was kept there. You become so engrossed in this personal time-travel and deep introspections that you don’t even realize it’s not raining outside anymore. You only notice it when a bunch of fireflies glowing in the dark appeared outside your window. You love this post-rain weather- when the cold wind ruffles your hair and the smell of the earth makes a permanent home in your greedy nostrils; they would've stolen this fragrance from the world had it been capable of it. But you can't feel the wind right now, you can only see the dancing trees swaying with the tune of wind-flow. You feel trapped here; amongst your conscious and self. Your room is the barrier between here and the outside world. But it can't limit your imagination. You wish to go outside. You wish you could hold a firefly, in your eyes. In a silent prayer, you wish to see the world outside this room of your materialistic past. And lo! Your solemn prayer is accepted when the wind forces its way through your windows and carries your form to see the world outside.

But your cells disperse all over the world. Unfortunately, they are all too far away from each other to interact and therefore you can't fuse yourself together to be one whole again. You suddenly regret coming out of the sacred enclosure of your materialistic past. Whatever it was, it belonged to no one else but you. But what’s done can’t be undone, because you've become a part of wind now. You realize that wind is nothing but diffused cells of some unfortunate beings like you, running wildly across seven lands and four oceans to find their missing pieces. You calculate the impossibilities in kneading the whole of you in one form. It’s like finding trillions of needles in a vast haystack scattered all over the earth. You stop caring about going back to your tangible state, you anyway always wanted to be a wanderer. What initially seemed as a bad decision suddenly doesn’t seem all that bad.

You probably come upon this decision when a bit of you gets stuck in the alpine bushes of the Great Himalayan North. You remember this place; you had come here when you held normal physical conformity. You remember these Tibetan prayer flags; you remember the tranquil water of the moon-lake. You remembered a secret wish of spending a lifetime here. You remembered dreaming of being a wanderer back then. You don't regret this form now. For you know, a bit of you is in the Havelock Islands too and your consciousness can travel there whenever you desire. Moreover, some of your cells are in Machu Picchu; some in Easter Islands and some are flying towards Diomede Islands as we speak. You are free to glide with eagles up high and play with the dolphins near the most exotic isles. You know this feeling; this weird sensation of being omnipresent, it’s not as divine as you’d expected it to be. But you know whatever you’ve felt ever since you entered the Great Cedar-Wood Room of Purgation is beyond the understanding of the human mind and soul. You know that everything that you’ve experienced ever since is something a mortal life could possibly never attain. It was certainly a fair trade.

So you soar with the wind,
Across the oceans of the world
To witness life in it's prime.
You are nothing but consciousness,
Free from physical limitations.
Your home is Earth;
And You are Earth.

Would you crave for anything else anymore?

Cushy Confession 101

No you don't hide
Nothing behind this white screen
That separates you from me.
Cos I've been there , you know
I've seen your highs and lows
And every curve,
which in your body grows.
I've seen you unclothed,
unhindered , untamed.
and I've hidden you
in my nakedness
many a times before.

But, the only thing that you can hide,
from me,
Is your heart,
If you'd ever be reluctant to give it to me.
'Cos I'd never snatch it from you,
Against ur will.

Incomplete Verses

A broken leaf, which reminded me of myself as much as you.
An unfinished song.

Few plans, of coloring the sky.
A photo of a foggy winter night.
A smile on my face of finding someone 

who knows the cracks on the wall.
A promise of a painting you'll draw.

These, you've left behind.
Tell me before I close that door,
What shall I do with them?

Je

I'm a traveler,
of distances in length
and memories.

I'm a weaver,
of stories untold,
unknown.

I'm a dreamer,
and all day I dream
of a man living in a green forest
inside a thin cardboard box with 23 pinholes
from where the sun slips in.

I'm the ancient heretic,
for my ideas don't go well with the present world.

Yet
I travel,
I dream,
I weave and
I seek out
those, who understand
the beauty, of insanity.

A Serenade for the Girl Far Far Away

I don't wanna lie awake,
I want to dream about you,
remember that feeling
to have you in my arms.

I haven't taken off your kiss
from the nape of my neck.
It reminds me of a touch so gentle.
The sweetest gift I could ever have.

I don't have remorse
that you are not here for now.
For there is something
that connects my heart,
to your heart. And I know,
distances in space don't matter,
for you are always close
for you are always in my heart.

Its greater than the strength of will
and all the forces of nature combined together,
the love that I've, for you.
All the memories of us together
stand witness to it.
And 'tis so grand-
it embraces the world around me.

So I don't feel alone.
Cos I got you,
in my mind, in my sight
for tonight;
And for every night that follows.

***

PS: There is a deep sense of calmness I get in love.

The Old Woman of the Hills

It was in one of those lucid dreams
Where I met the old woman of the hills.

She didn't speak much,
she just did what an old lady ought to do
to live alone on top of a mountaintop.
I was a visitor to her place
so I preferred abiding by her ways.
But while she was tendering fire
to prepare dinner for the night,
she told me about her cow and the elder son.
the cow,she said just stood all day
and did what a cow ought to do.
Whereas the elder son, she said
has flown astray with the winds
that came on the first winter night.
And that's why she was here
on the top of a mountaintop
waiting for his homecoming.
She had been there alone,
Lost in time, in mind and in her own world
She waited for something that might never return.

But while her mere presence
evoke within me, many a great epiphanies
and her story spoke of a lore I had heard once before,
I couldn't prevent myself from looking beneath her wrinkled skin-
For I saw memories (manifested in physical form)
that had taken shelter there, on her being.
And thus I said, 'Unto you, the world has ceased
for you are the keeper of time and of memories,
distant and distinct. Yet you are unbeknown to it.
Like a wheel knows not why to roll,
you are the one around whom the world revolves.
yet you shalt be unaware of it all.
It's the cross you chose to bear
It is something only few have the courage to bear
and even lesser few were worthy to be asked to bore."

"As I stand near this ancient fallen tree
by the top of a mountaintop
I see water streams rising upwards,
on that waterfall yonder
it is, indeed, a wonderful sight
but I'm certain, I'm not the perpetrator behind it;
and yet it is my dream.
Must it be your presence then,
that defy the basic run of things?"

Upon saying that I felt

a drop, oceanic deep
falling inside my disjointed ears.
and I saw a white beam of light infront of my eyes 

Right where She, the timekeeper stood.

She had shed her corporeal form,
and her voice pierced through my mind,
"Like you, I'm too a traveler,
but I cover distances not in length
but in memories and time.
And I needed something to hold on to;

A purpose in life.

and hence I feel
How happy is an empty vessel's lot
for there is nothing for one to forgot."

And it seemed like the fabric of time was stretched apart,
because it all happened too slow,
yet it all happened within a second
Because the very next moment I was awake

plugged back to life from a distant place

and Ironically, all I was left with, was memory
of the keeper of memories and time;
who waits for her lost son;
on the top of a mountaintop;
She might have been called many names before
but for me she'll always be, 

The Old Woman of the Hills.

Old Post. New Art.

Words drawn to life by: Udit

Chronicles of First Sons of Rebellions

"... next up on playlist is a special request from Rehtaeh of Halifax. It has been quite some time since this one is played on air. Considering the status quo, I don't wonder why. The world doesn't stop falling apart, yet what amazes me is the determination of people to fight off all the melancholy and gremlin of society. It is this trait of man that I salute to. This is Rebel FM and our next song is Redeemer's Sunshine by Shadow Town..."

***

The other day I was walking through busy market alleys
Women thronged the shops and men mobbed the lanes
Everyone seems occupied in their lives in their cocoons.
Everyone. Except me.
The Crusader of free spirit.
Where doth the moss grow?
I shall go there.

Scurrying through the crowd,
I exchanged glances with a grey-beard man
Few tatters and torns held his dignity
within the expectations of the dwellers


within the limits of civility expected from civilized dwellers
Of this noble city made from blood of her noble people.

The grey-beard man stood still.
In the middle of this ocean of life.
Life, (if it could be termed as such)
which was hysterically attracted
to material, both intangible and fleshed.

We exchanged a dialogue,
Him and I:
"What's the commotion all about?"
'The carnival is coming', I screamed,
as I waded through a stream of men to reach the man.
"Isn't it already here?"
'No, It doesn't seem so. I expect it to be more pompous',
I admitted coyly to the frail, old man
who had humbly welcomed me
with his arms wide enough to embrace the whole world.

"I've heard your dialect before.
Were you ever to part from your flock?"

'No, I'm a lonewalker.
I'm yet to be indoctrinated to material life.
And I feel my jargon,
if there may such be,
would have to defy geographical lengths
to call itself a Communion.'

He shrugged me with a hearty laugh and called me naive.
Then he prepared me for a question he wanted to ask the first person who would talk with him.
Questions of the world don't bother me.
It's those answers that I seek does.
So I, as humbly as I could, agreed.

Q: If you are to given a choice

between the two-

the fundamentalist and the choker,

who would you choose

to orchestrate the carnival?

A: I'll choose the fundamentalist,

he is a performer of sorts

he'd atleast have some acts lined up.

He'll be prim & proper.

He'll be ready to entertain the expectant crowd.

Regardless of his methods,

howsoever extreme they may be.

"Alas! What choice does this country of noble men have anyway?"
The old man replied with a tinge of a satirical smile,
The Shrewed One he was called henceforth
amongst other worthy monikers entitled to him.

His appearances was of a beggar,
It reflected his rejection of the society.
He was a defunct in the system of order;
Gremlin branded in a troop of saints.
Maybe because he knew the flaws too well.
Maybe he had exposed them to those who could either mend or exploit them.

"...Annihilation of reason, propagation of incomplete knowledge
laws of currency replace laws of nature; prejudice of people;
nation blinded by hypnotists performing rituals on screen;
the house of evolution overseen by capitalist regimes;
religion divides people, people divide power.
While in truth, Power covertly rules all.
Even the ones who owns it.

Our nation is scared of the consequences;
of change. Our people are meek", said he,The Propagandist.
"Ignorance might be thy bliss,
O Unconscious One!
But for a man who knows everything,
It's a nightmare raised to life.

I speak for men, for I'm one of them.
And my words are often silenced.
Yet I speak, for those few who shall harbor my words,
and they will know until death,
that I condemn the disease and not the carrier of disease."

His unkempt appearance failed to rob the clarity of his thoughts.
The Thinker he was and his words were like hymns of gods of mortals for mortals.

"Rather than the whole,
we think more of the self.
Man shall realize that what is I?
But just a cog in the wheel
An offspring that thrives in the cradle of Nature.
But he has mistaken himself as the ruler of world.
He now exploits The Mother for his follies.
He has built his world deprived of natural spirits.

But an insulated kingdom brings no trade,
For an individual shall only co-exist
in the company of identical spirits of its non-identical brethren.
Together they shall all thrive in abundance,
and rejoice in material and spiritual acumen
underneath the hearty bosoms of Mother Nature.
Yet, if disjointed, the house of cards shall fall"

The discourse of The Ancient Seer
felt like seraphic notes
of the Horns of Babylon
His words steered my roving mind
and anchored it where it belonged.

A path was laid,
The All-Knowing Navigator would sail the boat,
and the mark of his wisdom shall behest upon me.
I'll be The Propagator,
the harbinger of the holy shadow of The Great Wise One
His many virtues shall trickle through my veins onto men.
Seekers, they shall be called.
And I shall sought the answers they look for.
And I shall seek answers from Him
for all the questions of my own.

'You fight the world but I fight the mind.
You've found your sanctuary right in the middle of chaos.
Whereas I who wanders about, carry only chaos inside.
Show me the doors that I must not open now,
For my innocence might better my sense of reason.
Lead me through the path,
for my boat is lost without you.
My Lord Master,
I'll be your humble servant.
The one who shalt wipe
thy feet & thy hands
with tears of rejoice,
when the burden of men
shall you take onto thyself."

"You amuse me, O curious child.
Our destination maybe one,
But the paths could be many.
Your path may differ from mine
But that shall not always mean
That you won't reach there."
Saideth he, with a brilliance of thousand suns in his smile.
The Radiant Prince.

"Yet I will carry you along.
Long distances we shall cover in dialogue.
For there is sunshine in many dark corners
but scattered glints don't stroke the fire
upon which valorous men ride
and turn the tide on the history of mankind.

We must reach them all and call them our own
and we must all be kinsmen.
For together we shall change the path of humanity
Together,
We shall burn the holy scripts
possessed by those who were born with its possession;
We shall burn the scriptures
that divide men and their wisdom;
We shall burn the paper
that grasps the laws of nature by its throat;
and we shall burn the currency which doesn't exist"
We must bring order to the world,
Lest all shall perish.

And Thus arose The Leader,
The Emphatic One,
somewhere from the low rung underbelly of a rotting city.
And thus began Zarathustra's down-going.
It was then,
The First Sons of Rebellions were awoken.

Basic Method of Attaining Intangibility of Being

Get rid of condensed voices in mind.
Concentrate at the sky above you.

There is a Cosmic black velvet adorned by a singular great white drop. 

A man-like form yonder peeks through it
(He Revels in the limelight.
And in the enigma of his presence over it.)

Amber fills a faraway desert,
As Time recoils in perpetuity.
The drop melts 
and with it begins,
the unfolding of a peculiar set of events.

Take a deep breath

Prepare evacuation of bodily fluids.
Life has silently trespassed.

You are on your own now.

Just as you had come
you are gone now.

This supernal space you are in is called Essential Singularity.

Reckless Dream: II

There were a thousand stars that crowded the absurd sky that night. The whole world was wonderfully lit and it seemed as if the stars had descended from above to illuminate a very tiny and insignificant part of the cosmos. The clock had stuck 2 a.m when I saw last of it. I had a dream that night.

There was a carnival going on in a faraway place and I was determined that I would go. I took a cab and followed the lights that led to the luminescent glow at the far end of the unending road.
The journey would take eternity to reach the destination we've embarked upon. It was many light years away. So I decided to take a nap as I was getting weary of the journey. It took me all of my adolescence to realize how existence is like a day’s living extended over a period of time that’s dividable in mathematical figures. It was therefore, unbelievable when I first realized that life’s true purport was to revel in the bloom that nature offers mankind at the lapse of each season. It’s an everlasting delight to take fancy in such continuous replenishment of felicity. I was absolutely elated yet filled with an obnoxious feeling of fear that held me captive under its captaincy over my feeling of infrangible bliss. There were these noticeable layers of contradictory and complementary feelings stacked together haphazardly, each one as complete and absolute as the other. I tried diverting my mind to the lights outside. But the euphoria from the dark began to creep in and transform me into some sort of a dry cold blooded reptile which scared bejesus out of me. So I opened my eyes and I looked outside the window. Suddenly wild crooked beings came leaping inside the car.

There were millions of them. Each one was to carry the burdens of my life on their frail shoulders. Those insect-like messengers from the underworld with burdening responsibilities entered through my material body. They hummed The Host of Seraphim in barren undertones as they peeled the human skin off of me. I didn't shriek in agony, there was no pain involved. It was a part of the ritual, they informed me. The cleansing of soul had begun. I was getting prepared for the confluence. 

“The entry to the carnival shall only be received and redeemed to those who are in control of the trueness and fluidness of the surroundings”, whispered one of the messengers through the glitchy electronic public announcement system as the song came to its end. I must be close, I wondered. But, then the creatures, the keepers of my mortal burden, started jumping out of the window which was open to allow fresh air to come in. They paraded out slowly, assisted by other beings, one after the other. My gaze was fixed at them as they committed a communal suicide for a common man like me. 'My responsibilities will kill so many of them', I thought. It must have taken another eternity for them to perform their task. Probably I had lived off another lifetime somewhere in a faraway universe by now. I saw the last one of them leaped off from what was now a completely clean taxi. I was so engrossed bidding those fair insects farewell that I didn't really know when the surroundings changed and shapes shifted.

The air around me had picked up a peculiar smell. It gave me the creeps as I figured that something had obstructed my olfactory sensations to work efficiently. My prognosis concluded I had acquired parosamia. I think it was because of the those spirits, I had hired for guidance. They must have distorted my nose and it could be the side-effect of the spirits that I had to bear. But my vision hadn’t blurred yet. I glanced out of my cab to take a look around. I looked into a distant event and I must impress that I had never seen something so spectacular in my entire life. 

There was an orchestra playing Stravinsky at the far end of a circle within which was contained a magnificent lot of little mermaids who performed a ballet dance for the audience seated at the stadium. The width of each tier at the stadium was carefully calculated and had exactly the same dimension as the other; the hierarchical system of authority had been abolished on strict orders. From the distance I could see the riots break out somewhere near the periphery, but it was too early for it to reveal its significance. The steps upon which the audience sat with keen eyes, were embedded with radium. The fluorescent light emitted due to some chemical, laid down clear demarcations between the three groups of audiences that consisted of creatures from three different worlds.

While I was scrutinizing this heavenly event, suddenly an intuition that the whole foundation was bound to collapse flooded my mind. I had not realized the potential of my vision yet when I began to hear shrieks and screams coming from that same distant place. I blame myself for what happened next as those poor seemingly civilized creatures from each of the three worlds who had sat relishing the dramatic act with utmost empathy for the other till now, had transformed into bloodhounds and demons of sorts. Their altruism was much talked of until my conscience intruded theirs with an interest to boost my own understanding of something quite irrelevant and unmatched to the loss and suffering I had thus inflicted onto those innocent beings. I even requested the spirits, my humble guides, to take matter in their own hands. However, they too were mere pawns in front of this mother of all anarchy.

An opinion of a stranger, a different species altogether had brought upon them the apocalypse that they had never dreamed of. Yet I was not able to digest the idea of a utopian setup where the hierarchical system could be abandoned and abolished. There was certainly a fault in the chemical structure in their brains, (which I had somehow, infiltrated and maligned with my thoughts) which was probably been mastered by a supreme power for a very long time. He may have wanted to keep them under His control. But only until now. On the contrary it led to their demise as a race, since My observation pierced through His despised Intention. The poor creatures were subjected to denial and self-effacement when they ought to have been taught to cope up with “reality”. 

The tragedy ended in complete darkness. It seemed like a dying star from the distance where I was now. 'The circle of life continues regardless of mere mortal follies and accomplishments'. For the whole setup soon became a black hole leading to infinite possibilities. As I tried to gaze into the eye of the black hole which had just been born out of my naivety, it awoke. It saw me looking and pulled me in.

I believe I was sinking down an endless kaleidoscopic void. And as I fell into this cylindrical emptiness, the pictures started to fill in the perpetually changing patterns on the walls of the void. The history of Humanity ran across my face on them walls. I learned and registered in awe everything that man had become (and everything that he couldn’t while he could have). Parallel multiverses formed as the slightest of changes unraveled themselves like fireflies flying at dark nights as this one. Time was tamed and it allowed me to go through the life of every man that will ever live. I saw the rise of Adam and his flourishing notoriety; I saw both his noble deeds and his gruesome acts of horror. But I saw both of His acts with the same eye. The eye was the light and my honest guide through this part of the journey. Every possibility played simultaneously around me inside this seraphic coil which must have only been illuminated for a selected few who had embarked towards the Carnival of Infinite Brilliance. ‘There are but few who choose the destination which you've boarded’, my driver informed me as if he had a microphone fitted in my brain which had sensed my thoughts. The world outside had turned completely blank exactly when we reached the Present. I tried to give a nod of approval to my cosmic charioteer but my head felt like a stone. I realized I had lost control over my body, save the photo-receptors cells of the eye and the brain which were still in my command. Because I had also thought of utilizing the timely break in the unfolding of surroundings to lift myself and allow myself a better view of the walls of the portal but I couldn't move. 

I couldn't even budge an inch and I was trying to be as inconspicuous as I can in my movement but the driver surprisingly sensed my struggle everytime. He persuaded me to try and relax. I didn't pay much attention to him as I was busy dealing with my physical inconvenience when he spoke again, ‘On this part of the journey, bodily involvement is unneeded . Calm down and just keep your eyes open.’ As I was listening to him it occurred to me that my auditory organs had also been non-functional ever since we were gulped down this Portal of Frozen Time. I couldn't have realized had he even been speaking to me, as I was apparently deaf. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even seen his face! He had always been driving and looking ahead. Yet the voice I heard was clear and recognizable to an extent that I could give it a name. The driver had been frozen like me and there was no one else except him and me. I started to feel a bit awry of him and although he had brought us well so far, this detour wasn't necessary. This inconvenience wasn't desired. I decided to shrug off the voices. Mind must have been tired of the on-flow of Infinite Knowledge. It must have gone haywire, I assumed. I continued to try to move myself. I wanted a clear view of the outside and I had to be quick to avoid missing the forthcoming visual commentary that could begin any moment. For I’d figured, They would show the future.

Although I couldn't have calculated the time it took to move myself, the laws of space and time were
as imaginary a thought as the one I was in. But it sure seemed like another eternity. And all I could manage
in this vast time-span was to wiggle the pinky of my left foot. I didn't miss anything though. They didn't start until I was ready. It was part of the plan because I realized that as soon as the pinky moved- 

Because colors flew all around us. Disarrayed; violent. They started to wrap me up and I could do nothing about it. The riot of colors formed a vortex with the outlet focused on me. 'They are attracted to your mortal remains', announced the driver or whatever it was in my head. He spoke after long I realized. They started to crawl inside my body, slithering through the veins and every inch of my molecule. At one point I was made of nothing but colors. But I could only see, like a spectator in awe and horror. A rush of hues of vibrant colors sparkled and curled inside me and slowly started to rise towards my head. I couldn't have known how I was looking until the driver adjusted his rear-view mirror to look at me. It was the first time he moved ever since this pilgrimage had begun. Maybe the colors aroused his curiosity or it was a staged move, I would never know. Nevertheless, what I saw was as bizarre as everything else that I've encountered in this strange journey. For I saw myself looking at The Ancient Reptile of Thousand Colors and it was creepy. But it was not the end of it because it got worse when I realized the Ancient Reptile was Me and the driver was I.

Terrified as I was with my own image in the mirror, I thought of jumping out of the moving vehicle which was in fact making me claustrophobic now. I could move myself now, or whatever remains of Me inside the Ancient Reptile of Thousand Colors. I needed to breathe. When I looked at my hideous visage, I realized that I must have been out of breath since the reptile suit engulfed my form. I could feel my lungs contract every time I tried to take a deeper breath. I paused and sat back in my seat. I closed my eyes and saw the devil approve my long pending petition, written in about a hundred words and successfully describing all the necessary clauses as to what should happen if I crossed the boundaries of my conscience. The ephemeral existence of man that has to perish one day was not just an intangible idea anymore.

I was alive. 

I was there. 

A tourist in a place as bizarre as thought itself

And I had seen it all. 

And beyond. 

I awoke and it was exactly 2.10 a.m.

MindFuck

Sometimes.

When there is a lot of noise outside.

If it is beyond the control of my mind.

I feel like this.

Oneirism II

Run away from this house of burning ire

it is bound to fall soon.

Forget me like you've forgotten all your estranged lovers.

And hope we meet some other day,

in some other world.

Where there won't be a home; 

or a name,

or a responsibility of keeping it.

Dust & Other Elements

The love that shimmered
Under starlight
In a lone copse of willow,
The winds do remember their names.

But as seasons change,
the names dissolve.
So does love,
Like dust and other elements.

1. Prologue: The Gift of Happenstance

There is a very special piece of journal this narrator has acquired. It's a diary of someone who could be of great importance to mankind. I must admit it was a mere blip of a coincidence to have this book in my possession today. Nonetheless, I've realized it's worth and the importance of ideas this scripture holds within it's strange papyrus folds. I must share it with my readers; for the outflow of truth should never cease.

***

It was the wee hours of one of those full-moon winter nights. I love the most to roam in Delhi at this time. Me and two other of my gang were going to a place in the ridge near Kali Badi Mandir. 'Prince's Den', we would call it cheekily. There is a very interesting walk through the rocky ridge to reach PD. You have to follow a trail through thick trees and walk over huge water pipes hanging firmly 12 feet above the ground and surrounded by lush greens to reach this place. It is one of those very few spots within these cement walls where nature is in just about sufficient amount to unplug you from the chaos of the jungle we live in. There is nothing extravagant about PD though, it's just a clear space on top of a hillock surrounded by short trees. But on full moon-nights that place glows like an ethereal dream. That's why we popped acid and decided to head there that night. We go to there almost once a month. Although it's not a safe place to chill but we all have our ways of getting 'kicks'. But that night turned out to be different from normal escapades to PD. 

We were almost peaking when we reached PD that night. We found a red bag in the middle of that open space. It was glowing strangely under the moonlight or it might have been that Green Martian taking effect. Anyway, the area around PD is a famous hideout for thieves and robbers. After a successful hit, they often hide inside the thickly forested ridge and segregate the valuables from the loot. Although the sight of that bag looked very unnatural to me, but my friends who were more regular to PD didn't care much- A snitch must have gone lucky and lifted someone's bag at the nearby railway station and abandoned all it's unimportant stuff here. I decided to inspect it and it actually turned out to be an ordinary bag belonging to someone who had traveled a long way to reach Delhi. There were clothes, files and folders and other ordinary day-to-day essentials. There was nothing inside that bag that could have indicated that it's real owner must have actually been a traveler- not of distance, but of time. Because I only got to realize it recently.

I have this tendency to keep things I find while traveling. Sometimes they act like souvenirs from all the places I visit and sometimes I keep them for the history they hold within themselves. I have a maple leaf from Paris; burnt notes from an army settlement near Puh; a hotel bill from Raithal; bus tickets of Bangalore and of various places in Himalayas where I choose buses as my preferred mode of travel. These are generally those things which  don't have much worth in life once it has served it's purpose. But for me, these things are the bookmarks of my journey in life.

On that night I found a brown diary inside the red bag. What was written on it's first page grabbed my attention:

What remains away from the sanctuary

would be just words and the black veil.

Rest shall dissolve.

So I kept it.

Along with the diary I also kept a glowing unused sticker from the bag; the ones you used to stick on your notebooks, pencil boxes and book-shelves when you are young. However, this one had a very strange design on it and I thought of using it in my pop art poster that I was making at home. After coming back home that night from PD, I completely forgot about the diary and the strange alien-design label. I even forgot working on the poster. But a few days ago after umpteen attempts I finally convinced myself to redo the poster. At almost the same time I was reminded of that label. I recalled keeping it in the brown diary. But I searched it everywhere at home and since it had been quite some time, I could only find the diary. The label must have been displaced. I didn't really look for it, because then my attention went to what was written in the brown diary. Once I started reading it, I couldn't keep myself away from. It was so simple to understand! Yet it explained to me things that I could never ever imagine to exist.

It was someone's diary; that's for sure. Atleast it was written in that way. But all those things which seemed to be a work of fiction at first, sooner became the scariest truth that I could ever know. It was the truth about the future of our race.

Wait for my following updates as I unravel the diary of a man who lived in the year 3412 AD.


I'm writing a story. I'll try to be regular, I promise.