Let ‘x’ Be the Human Mind

Let ‘x’ be a variable,

A variable, trying to find a constant coordinate,

Which plane where it may lie upon?

Is a question it trembles to undertake.

Let ‘x’ be named Satan, Subhi or Lakshay,

The former name blinded by the values of his freedom,

Subhi, a variable wondering where to land with its creative clay,

Lakshay, forming a hyperbola all the way from the negative planes.

One moment in the chemical curfew of the nerves,

The other,  assembling their existence on the physical planes.

Oh, let ‘x’ be a constant one day,

Away from the other factors of the world,

In a parallel plain,

Where greed, creativity and curiosity,

Will not find their stay,

A void to time, an empty room of incest,

Dreaming of the plane, where ‘x’ varies with names.

 

1. The Classroom

I entered the classroom with the excitement of meeting the new batch, unlike other professors I always waited for the young minds exploring the world of literature. I remember when I began my journey in the field and how I was not sure about anything related to my decision. The classroom had the usual sense to me, the place where I can talk to anyone about anything, that was my job after all.

“Greetings! Young minds. I am Atlas Rogue and I will be dealing with deceiving you people.  Deceiving you all to take a journey with our rusted head to the plane of isolated imagination. Too much? Well in simple language I am responsible to let you all know about the roots of literature, we will talk about mythology and psychology side by side. But I need to know each one of you and I don’t believe that names are the key to individual understanding. So here is your first assignment, you all will be mailing me the jigsaw events that were put together to add meaning to your actions. Consider me as your friend, everything will be kept as a secret and we shall work upon adding on to the meaning of our story.”

I could see how I skipped a few steps here when the batch of thirty students were sitting still.

“Any questions so far?” the usual drill was followed, none of them put up a conversation. No one was to blame, I opted to teach the refugee students that were taken in by the French government. I could see some faces filled with fear and no intentions to be here at the educational arts centre.

“I will take a leave now, my friends. Hope to read your stories tonight, 20 lines will do. Have a good day.”

While driving my way back, I knew I would not receive the write ups today. I had to find out a way to connect to them and the reason must be unified. I kept thinking about how all the names in the class list had the Hindu descent despite of the fact that the families were saved on their way from Syria, an Islamic country. The world of literature shall treat all equally, the new class brought mysteries to resolve.