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.

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My Tsunami and Tears

When I looked into her eyes…

I heard violins bleeding melancholy. Her eyes had trapped a poet. The music that held my mind poisoned my senses to the outside world. It was a cold breeze that entrapped my soul, I felt as if I am standing on the edge of my existence.
Waves hitting the perplexed consciousness brought fret. Fever. Forlorn. Keats. Wait. This is my own head.

I broke out of my focus and realised I was lost. Somehow the music stopped and I could listen to the crowd around. I had to listen to the violin again, too compelling to be real, but surreal to my instincts.

“Do you mind if I stare?”

“A paraoid poet, huh?”

“Kind of. I am a little weird.”

I could sense the breeze again. Waves were there to comfort my numb senses. Slowly, the waves grew stronger, as if trying to reach me. I looked around and found myself alone trapped in my hallucination. I saw a huge wave approaching the shore. More like a tsunami as it approached. I said to myself, its alright. After all, this is just a play of time. 

“Just remember that all such troubles are now gone and the scars are healing.”

“Yes, but there is too much rush of memories and I almost suffocate myself.”

The huge wave had caught me, my heart trembeling to adjust into reality. I was losing my consciousness, everything faded with my heart beat. Slowly with seconds, I returned. 

“You dont have to cry it out.”

“I cant help it, when the memories hit the shore. I cannot control.”

“I see.”

“Tears are real. I dont like reality.”

“Tsunamis are worse, beautiful.”

A gentle touch on the pulse will hold us both to the limited reality we want to suffer.

Dear Aries

Alive like the blood, Compelling as the rose.

It is all a simple rhythm to move along,

Maybe dance a little and colour the song,

It is the human nature to be adamant with prejudice,

Not for us, our senses can go beyond to empathise.

 

Peace is our stance while we listen,

And we expect the same from our whistle,

We may be horrid with the horns,

But often, humour can help you heal the wounds.

 

We are short-lived in anger and concern,

But the aesthetics shall remain and the future shall learn,

How trivial images can shape revolution for them all.

We hold the throne of lands on our head,

The passion that rules, hidden under the crest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Libra

We are blinded in tranquillity,

Surfacing the judgment from the canvas of the lost.

We run across intimate to their existence

Never to leave our trace in the thought.

 

Loyal as the wind, held by a storm,

Unknowingly affected by the sea,

Determined blindly by the play of a song,

We dance to the cause, only listening to the impact,

Rational verdicts that proclaim love as a fact.

 

Simple, yet complete, unlike the dreamer of the seas,

Our essence lies in the gravity,

The pull that enacts and justify each deed.

If you fall, only justice shall hear your call,

For I am the message that resonates the heartbeat in the fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Scorpian

Rush is known to hold their thoughts,

But you and I can slow down the fall,

And simply assembles the symbols in grace,

The empty smiles would come down with flaws,

Scattered naked under the Eagle’s thought.

 

We have the poison that can hold their nerves,

One reason for the shallow hold of their verse.

But the blue ocean, that we adore,

Can hold the poison till we are threatened with a sword,

Till the ocean would flood into the streams of our words.

 

We can stay and listen to the music of the shore,

In the serene eyes of the spirit, we adore,

Come around and we shall sing for long,

Keeping the secrets under the rhythm of the song.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Piscean

I realize they never settle,

I realize they never look up to the sky,

To find the spirit resting the strings to our nerves,

Rather, they drown and try to seek life in our troubles.

 

But as the inhabitants of the sea,

You and I shall hold the tranquil harp of needs,

For only when the ocean is calm,

They will feel the strings from the moon,

Pulling the existence to paradise from the clay.

 

Arid to their cause, we were blinded,

But always, and often their lucid dreams would tell,

That the souls rest on the verge of the waterfall,

Just like another one from the seas,

Seeking the symphony beyond the terror of deeds.

 

 

 

8. The Violin Play

“Hey, Alex. I guess I am sick. It is time to wake up.” I could only feel the febrile decay of my strength. My body was warm to its core, the brittle memories from the weird dream added to the problem. ” I had a weird dream. Fever dream, I suppose..”.

“Good Morning, take an off today, Dr Atlas. You think so much.” she came closer to kiss, the touch of her lips was cold. ” It is bad. You should have a break. Stay at home, I will come early as well.” Her voice was comforting, yet my body felt as if it would melt from the shivers through my skin. I took out the medicine and swallowed it with the last sip of water left in the water bottle.

“Yes, I will text them that I cannot come. Have a good day. Make something delicious. I need some positive energy in my mind.” I smiled at her and kissed her for a brief moment. The moment was not enough, but my body was not normal. I smiled again and closed my eyes, afraid of the dream yet searching for the answer of the Vedas. Wisdom could not reach to me eventually, the dream made no sense.


The endless and immortal space, a dream again. A drop of sweat rolled down my face. Another dream with no wisdom of real context of my life.

It was the space this time, completely empty just a sort of a cluster of beautiful colours in front of me. I was not breathing, not moving, not listening, but I was there. Kept at the moment, waiting for something to wake me up. I placed my vision onto the bright colours in front of me, the cluster looked like a coloured river contained by the moment. I close my eyes, trying to wake myself. I was stuck again, sweating with the vision of a giant super nova. A dead star, ironically my mental status at the very moment; a mind incapable of allowing the wisdom of the experience, process through its core.

I helplessly stare at the blend of colours, a golden glow around the deep red and blue blend of its centre. To the little philosophy in my head, it reminded me for the colour of blood revamped with the blue of the sky. Symbolic of danger, life and peace. I was certainly lost. I kept looking till my mind could perceive an image of a women’s face in the dead star. A beautiful face, red on the inside and the blue slowly converted into the black like the rest of the space. A slow descent of the blue into the darkness. A sudden sound gave me chills, it was music. A violin, a sad-single instrument that seemed to be the void around me. The face had darkened on the edges of the colour. The eyes had the blue, rest everything was red. Red to the essence, I did not even try speaking. Waited for the silly dream to send more cues of my sub-conscious head.

The music slowed down with the image of the women blinking her eyes, the movement again went forth to disturb the darkness. Her lips appeared and slowly the space around me began to detonate with a powerful tone to go along with the violin.

Each word is supposed to uplift your existence from the hell,

Each phrase had to pull your essence to the blue,

But you desired the blood! The wars!

You belonged to the skies, But the hour is rather broken to fly,

The words were dead when the red had coloured the race,

Only a few remain in the isolated verse,

You sought wisdom and here you end,

Dying with the meaning of those words as the ornament,

Just keep your soul, listen till inferno,

Sophia from the Republic has died,

They never read Plato in the dim light,

I only exist in this lost cell of thoughts,

Inside the mind of a sick person, inside the blank pages that were lost.

My body was almost gone out in the darkness, absorbed and devoid of my sense to a greater extent. Her face, the face resembled Alex. Sophia, rather a philosophy from the book I am supposed to read.

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