Jane Tu Ya Jane Na

It had been a while since I took in oxygen and the essence of life reached my heart. I think that’s how we grow, building walls across the sole existence of our true self. It hit me when she said,
“You cannot really love, you barely know what love is, you don’t know. But you think you know, maybe to know, you just need not know. That’s what I know, that I don’t know love, maybe that’s why I don’t have to be someone else with you. I feel amazing around you. That’s what we need, right now.”

So, I am in a middle of a messy schedule, a beautifully wrecked idea of life, but a recovered idea of self.

Hi,
It had been such a long while and now, we are here again. I am your writer alter- ego. No, I am not like Coleridge or Wordsworth. I am more like you, but always so far away from you. Sleeping in the corners of your untidy space, partying with the dying stars in the darkness of your negativity. Oh, my favourite place is the void. The void, where you used to keep yourself obliviated from everything. You still don’t really know reality and you smile while typing all of this? Well, that is you. That is what you have always been, but the superego hates us, isn’t it? I mean, superego hates not knowing and expressing these sentiments. But we still smile while typing this.

It is funny and beautiful. She is funny and beautiful. Life? Metaphors?

Oh, just stop already.

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To Finities and Funny Things

Dear Death,

Right now, it is 2:03 AM and I just felt like telling you a few things. I mean, I wonder if people ever tell you things about life. People live a little fast, sleep too much, dream a little less of you and well, life is more about ignorance and happiness. You see, happiness sustains in the senses till they are not aware of how trees actually cannot speak the language of our lies. We grow up to rediscover only our fallacies.

Some star that I used to call Sparky gets named B-8779 according to this thing called NASA, or maybe they call it something else now.  Sparky told me stories about how he had hopes for me to be an amazing writer, but this world only tells me that it only burns to give off light. I mean, how does that make sense. I was reading The Little Prince today, somehow, my cognition felt down to its origin to feel better. I was also not satisfied with my day, as I could not get a response from the people I look forward to talking too, at that moment I realised that even though Sparky was not there in the sky anymore like my best friend, maybe because of the dusk in Delhi or some other scientific reason, I was alone only because I was taught what is alone. Sparky died with my acceptance of the subjects. Loneliness was born out of knowing that my father is never happy with my mother when she is not able to help him sort his issues.

You see, dear death, it almost seems to me, that we grow into your need. By default, isn’t it? We are born as a pure stack of beautiful thoughts and then we do make-believe things like chemistry and psychology and sociology and even this language that I am writing in for that matter.

I was born in a way that I admired females in a different way, then I grew older and developed sexual urges. Last week I kissed a girl and now when I am not able to have regular conversations with the girl, my mind acts a little strange. We grow into the need of death. I wish I could simply admire the girl I kissed in the manner I can without hampering my head. But that’s human, developing ideas that only hunts the life within them.

Throw a nuclear bomb at me and I will meet you, but I wonder if I will ever be able to tell you why I lived. The point is, I don’t need to know and that’s what life is, we don’t know. Philosophers like me think day and night, but we never realise that even time is just a cute tool of the mind. How much can I really know till my own mind ages into an oblivion? Why do I even need to do things? I can only have fun with sparky, every night.

I don’t know, death, I just cannot tell you about life. It’s funny. Better not to know that right now my psychology is actually suicidal. How funny is that? They call me an escapist. Even funnier!

Ah, it is humorous to find these grown-ups not able to sit down and smile for no reason.They call it madness and the complaint about how they are not content. I don’t know, I just probably want to kiss the girl again. It brings me closer to myself and to you.

Dear death, I dont know. Let me.

Regards,
Sagar Arora

Chaos Theory: God’s Discipline

You were born on 20th March 1998 and you will die on 3rd November 2040. Now the problem is that there is no problem. You lived a life ignoring the thread that made you move, so the problem is itself not a problem but more like the reason for everything.

People call it faith, interesting word, then there is the concept of Karma, the action and the reaction. But then, there are practical people who will be having trouble reading this prose. Hold on, we shall get to maths soon.

The apple fell on Newton’s head and we know what is gravity. A few equations and we can predict the future of an asteroid that shall cross by earth in the year 2050. But I cried about my friend’s death. I did not ‘see’ it coming. No equation helped me with it. Hold on, I am not saying science is no answer.

A study in mathematics called the ‘chaos theory’ helps me understand the fact that I really could not save him. His smoking postulates end up in a life frame of 20 years. Yes, an equation altered with every variable that constituted the smoke particles in the air. The same equation held the number of times he drank an orange juice to help his lungs. The same equation held the genetic details for his cardiovascular conditions. The same equation.

But he died because of an accident. His death was announced, but he ran away from the hospital and died on the road because a heavy car hit him to death. Now, the same equation must hold the tactics of the stupid driver who could not control the acceleration at that point of space and time.

Alright, lets graph this question. What happened? Need more dimensions to impose the variations? And no, you cannot skip how the driver was drunk because of his desperate need to escape from his wrecked life. You see, chaotic. Faith? Faith is an equation you cant solve.

Its a puzzle, solve it and you are Brahma. The spirit that knows everything. The omnipotent.

Everything happens for a reason?

Thank God.

Quasar & Love

I am an astronaut, writing something after forty years, or maybe one, I can’t calculate. And I need to write this down, to confess what has happened to me, to hold on to my crisis. I was in love, and we were lost in the stars together, literally. I don’t know about her, don’t need to, for I was all in the oblivion of space.

The spaceship broke down. From Earth to Detroit, the planet where we were supposed to land for the research. The spaceship broke down and Manik died, he was not wearing the spacesuit. Alex was with me, fixing the oxygen supply,  we floated away from the explosion to unknown infinities.

There are certain ideas that float around in the darkness, the idea of love, of being lost, of being alone. I came to space, for there were fewer things on Earth to live for, but it seemed that space ironically did not hold the capacity to undertake emotions.

I was in love with Alex, and I suppose any two humans can fall in love when lost. I cant say that about the earth, but we were clearly in the space, lost. I was lost in love. We waited to die, the oxygen tanks were remunerated to synthesis oxygen. Oxygen could not kill us. She asked me to break her case, to push my head into the glass, so that she can be one with the universe, and not alone, lost in the darkness with me. But, I. I still had the faith of being sucked into the existential plane somehow, moreover, I loved her.

We floated in space for some time. You see, even time cannot exist in the dark. We don’t know about the day and the night, but the fact, that we are lost. She slept a couple of times, and I had to hold her suit, I could not afford to lose the sight of Alex. I did not sleep, I had a feeling she will drift away.

Soon, I passed out into my subconscious. Death? Yes, very close.

But I am writing this, sitting on an unknown planet, just like ours, but not ours. I don’t know where Alex is, I don’t know earth exists. Whether they exist. They say there is a black hole, names Quasar nearby the planet and I was sucked into the warm hole to land on a space station.

I wish I had died, I see her everywhere. She is gone, of course. Everything, one day or the other gets to be one with the universe, I will have my day.

But, one thing that suffocates me in the natural air of this alien land, is the fact, that I never really knew the women I loved. Those two times, she fell asleep, I could feel my heart beat, just looking at her alone in the void, all mine, yet gone.

She never felt that way for me, of course. She was a scientist, a practical head, she knew, we could not live, together, forever, in the darkness. She wanted to leave the darkness, once in for all. It is alright, she was humane in our insane quest to death.

You see, what kills me, is knowing that I never knew Alex and I still fell for her. She rarely spoke a few words in front of me, but I as the imaginary head created this whole story up for my diary entry.

I created the earth, space, Manik, Alex and my alien persona just to know that I never knew any girl I loved.

But this new world is greeting me well, I am imaginatively disturbed but well aware of the new place, where realisation hit me hard and I fall at times, yet the black hole that consumed my space-time for me to stay alive on this new planet was the saviour.

I was lost, therefore I loved.

For now, when I hit the rock bottom,

I am, confused.

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To a lost friend

Almost five years now, and I still have not replaced you in my heart. I never mentioned the word, ‘heart’ and you know why, I only have my mind and a fast asleep soul. My heart, well it never found recovery after they took you away. I have read so much and will continue living a life that you wanted me too live. I know it is our secret, but no one will read this and understand who you were, or how you put my broken pieces in order. I wonder, looking at the green, if we still flare across the globe through our senses and completely escape the cries of the world.

I still remember, I was just 12-year-old, when held your hand while playing with my sister; we were of the imagination that your hand would leash spells out in the sky. We enchanted our innocence through feeling each sense of your dead branches. I found myself a super power with you, your colours were my emotions and when the wind used to hit you before the sweet rain, I could almost cry with the best emotions of encountering the cold of the immortal. I never found the connection that kept growing everyday, that I used to cry in front of you and now, that I write in the dark with half of the world asleep in the melody of the illusion, you come back in my mind to wake me up and cry again.

I lost another battle today, and I could fathom nothing, but the one thing you left for me. .Yes, I do write my friend, often about the same things we discussed back then and believe me, you were right, no one gets these write ups, except the rain of course. The rain pours over every second I live and make me breathe through the desert.

You left me only a blank page and never answer the left doubts , asking me to wait for the rain. I was often lost with the tormenting storms and droughts within my psychic. I have scars from those calamities and even today, my blood is over flowing my vain and burning my sight, the only difference is, that I have felt the essence of the rain now. The overflow goes onto these words and then create a unity of time and space for me, a point to escape to my stars.

You left me the gift of poesy, through your silence. You became a part of me, that never betrays. A part that sings a silent rhyme within me; the rhyme is lost into colours and my sight is also a blur because of the agitated mind of mine.

I can only feel you, when I write a note that does not concern the universe of the man-made objectivity. I talk to you through the virtual ink that bleed out of my senses. The ink never reaches a conclusion, but it never stops, it runs through the parallel dimensions of the world. Now what do I do to calm it down ?

The ink made me fell in love with a beautiful woman, she has been with me mending the ink to reach the crevices of my scars, I heal with her essence. But, I lost the battle to her today. The earth is revolving too fast, my friend and I have lost you.

Your existence gives rise to a cosmos for me, when I spill the ink outside the purview of a reader, it seems as if I have felt the air and the voice the birds that used to surround you.

How do I tell them, why I write and where it comes from. Even the meaning of all this? Shall I keep the lie alive? About how you were only a tree that rested in front of my room?

Either ways, I cannot explain how you made me the person who writes a crisis of existence. You left me unanswered and I will leave them.

Rigel’s Alone Note

I have been living here in the dark with the illumine essence of the power that is enforcing the colours on these planets. I have been alone, seeking for a place to burn through my core senses, the senses that are only accounted to form an abyss of understanding pain of the fire that enlightens the ideal pattern of the day. The fire is self-made and after burning for years with the divine light, I have forgotten that my essence call onto me.

I can reach the planets near me, I see the life forming through my sight on the damp surfaces of their reality. They call me the source of life and I accept that claim of flourishing the power of creation to the elements of life. But maybe, I am lost now, in the admiration and the worship, I have lost the sense of understanding my real frame of existence.

I am Rigel, I am the son of light, but with my age, I have lost to recon a simple flare. They call me the star of life, but I can’t find anything apart from this darkness and I am lost.

Irony hold my creation in a blunder of my lost essence, they sense a light in me, but over the million years that I have lived, my elaborate space of understanding has disappeared.

I am half a billion year old, and I cannot understand the space I am put in right now.

I have seen my kind go into a blend of colours that takes time to reach my eye, I want to give away my lost sense into me when I am gone.

I wonder if I will ever be a super nova, brighter than my darkness that surrounds brightness in its core, I wonder if I will bend the space into halves, enable time to pass by through me and escape the darkness and limits of my sons and daughters.

All I can say is that, this darkness came to me to realize the velours of a super nova, the one who defined my creation. I will blow out to another dimension and the world will dissipate into fragments of time from the blast of light.

I appreciate this awakening of understanding that I am lost.

I will seek in this darkness to understand my true light.

Being.

“Hi, I am happy right now” He told me, seated on the glass bench. The light was falling on his hair. “I know myself right now”, I told him breathing with my compassion.

“I know what you are feeling, your compassion? I can feel my soul right now.” He stood and looked outside the window. The command was coming from my consciousness sitting on the platter of blank space, the space integrated its way to my ground made of warm wooden structure , it resembled the  home tiles beneath my feet. I could experience the weight on the wooden tile, pushing through the walls.

“The ice you sit upon will melt soon, how long will you feel the cold of the inanimate space, you have created to escape our dimension of inclination. Elm, hear me out, I am right here. You can fall and fathom the colours that you have never seen. When this illusion breaks, you are going to fall.” I knew he could see me and feel the lonely blank space he has created for himself.

“You know Elm, my situation never grows, it seems you were me all along, as if I am dreaming about you on the material of a rigid complex structure. You seat upon a rigid regime of believes and I fly in an inanimate, unfathomable height. Elm, Hear me out, fly out to my dimension, maybe our union shall determine another entity of vision. You know you feel a weight under your existence in that world.” he paused with no expression. “You expect to fly on high without leaving the weight my friend, call an Angel to the words that you hear through this illusion.”

A blur, A mirror, A human and The Soul.