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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The Allegorical Delusion

The lanes I walk through are deserted and dark,

The chains that clench me are decrepit and rusted,

For the time that they have bound me has been long and everlasting

I’m tired and I see nothing that can keep me going on this tread anymore.

 

I open my eyes and it all disappears, all I can see is light;

A vivid Aurora greets me with the scent of petrichor so mild

With no handcuffs of chains, I can move anywhere in this free space

I can run, I can laugh for I’ve found my freedom alas!

 

It hits me again and I can feel those restraints,

I see no chains or darkness but I can feel the same old incarceration

The freedom I felt was ephemeral or just a delusion,

I can now see the cage embellished with extravagance.

 

The freedom is what I yearn for, the binge doesn’t excite me anymore

With each breath, I grow more impatient to leave this treacherous world

I know nothing about the escape but I know the truth

This cognizance is a sweet pain, my only hope and my inconsolable ache.

 A poem by Ankita Arora

Deception

  My friend is driven through the lore,

My own self, hidden inside a dark robe,

The mighty exploration of the song

is to him the opiate of this play,

he explores and wonders night and day,

questioning the stars, asking for his name.

” I am the master of my trail,

I have discovered elements,

I am mended with the sky,

But I wonder how to derive

The arduous descent of my life.

Maybe, the world I see is all that is to believe?

My amorous stakes of the need,

My quest can never be deceived,

Of all that I have lost or found,

One thing has been my evasive need,

A desire to dream and bleed with the melodies of possibilities.

I will wonder throughout the fall,

Will look at the moon and dance till I fall,

For my descent is yet to announce,

The vast ocean, self-less and unbound.

I would rather decay in the morn of my defeat,

Then to be obsolete from the dilemma of my deeds.”

To him, the world was an endless hymn,

To him, the moon merely replied,

” Call upon yourself inside,

The lore would bundle your shine,

The descent of the space and time,

All hidden in an empty line,

For when you dance, I seek the night sea,

Pull the river sheets to fall a tide beneath,

The tide shall rotate the wind aloud,

And when you dance, my command shall reach its sound,

You are, the very core to me,

The friend lost in a puzzle with the false clay of need,

Icarus could not fly to me, He was lost within the only sea,

 Why don’t you wake up from the dream beneath,

And know yourself, how oblique is the sight of the dream.

One equation for all the falls,

solve the myriad of the lost accord,

Call upon the wind you breathe,

And decipher yourself, as the leave that dances with the breeze.”

That one incentive drowned his opiate into the river,

He woke up to find me bleed,

For he is red in the river, silenced from the dark isolation,

And I fly through the lakes of redemption,

I was the moon that heard the lore,

And brought the quest into the shore.

I am your name and the name of the hold,

I am the one who never bends with time,

or rhyme in the deceiving space,

The lie that the nature erased.

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.

A Lullaby from the Stars

I will keep this simple, like our stars,

And I will provide you the scope to the horror,

Maybe the scope to our heart,

My constellation shaped up an ocean for me to breathe,

Deep, blue as if the sky was my land,

And the world was left with an infinite depth,

I was left alone to swim, seek and find.

I was blinded by my thoughts that resonated in my mind,

Hoping they will recon an idea in the space,

Hoping that the stars will recover the creation of my faith.

And then, after sixteen years of wondering in the ocean,

The space revolved around as music creating magic,

The magic that shaped you through the notes,

A fairy that could oscillated with me in the empty space,

I remained my blue after your wings,

The wings that could take me to the real sky,

You were the creation that helped me realize,

The vivid sense of magic hidden beneath the eye.

I hope you know my name, I am the marine of the night,

That called out for the day,

The stars, they planned our scars,

The formations that lead to rain,

And when the time comes,

The lullaby shall renovate showering a vision of reality from the opaque,

With the onset of another day,

We will fly away.

 

The Lost Ink

Have you felt the need to escape, my friend,

Have you ever touched the essence of your breath,

Maybe the hidden tear of the grief,

Maybe the word from the red ink that never preach,

Yes , I know how cries go of with grief,

And the words leave the ink and the need to believe,

This makes me wonder ,

 Are we those souls that left paradise,

Without a hint of what is left behind,

Are we those words that never meant an emotion,

Or is this a rhyme that makes no sense?

Maybe I am writing with the insane ink,

And maybe I am high on those allusions and dreams,

Where I saw the brightness enchant the terms of life,

Where the grief was stuck,

But the tear rolled into the deep sigh,

And again I might have flowed down with it,

And now I miss my grief,

I hope that the grief is looking down,

Oh! I know it is looking down,

On all the tear drop that fell from it,

And soon we will resonate back to the heights,

Unlike words that were never defined,

We will find our solace and escape the prison of the mind,

I did not take opium as my latter,

I am not Coleridge, but an anonymous rhyme,

The one I myself will never be able to recite,

I am that thought that you gave away to the world,

To the mirage of happiness ,

And the plague that  corrupted our sense,

The one sense that deals with the grief,

The one whose union is immortal to our believe,

I am that high enchanted rhyme,

I am lost rather hidden in a crown,

Wear that crown to find me ,

The crown of spirituality,

Find your own crown to find me,

That’s all this rhyme has to speak,

Raise yourself high but not with your deed,

Raise yourself high with your believe,

And find the lost grief.