5. The Kalam

“Can we talk? Right now, sir?” a boy in a blue migrant camp t-shirt and a torn gray trouser had approached me after the class found its way out, his accent was not like the usual ones I got to hear at the center. “I am Aadesh, I hope you got the email.” I was delighted to hear from the boy.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here, Irfan. Do you have another class right now? I would love to talk.” I placed my hand over his shoulder, I could sense the weakness in the body, could imagine the pain he went through the journey.

“No, I don’t have a class right now. This is the only course assigned so far. I am hearing that name after a very long while.” He smiled partially and sat on the chair in front of the desk. The silence was peaceful, I was searching for the right thing to ask a boy who has seen a terrible past. Years of lecturing and every time I reckoned with such a situation, I was left as a no voice.

“You write very well; the story was strong to the core but your emotions went right on each word. You have faced a lot and I am no one to suggest how you face life, but I will say I am proud of your faith in the living. I am glad you opted literature in the education, how are you living here in France?”

“The camps, there are about twenty families sharing one camp center, most of them are leaving for further migration. I don’t have the allowance, they demand an identity. The admission into the Art Centre is another issue, the head of the literature department had requested the government for the few boys. I am glad I could come to this place.” His voice was calm and the accent added to the softness of the tone, the light from the windows filled the room with the essence of stillness.

“I have seen the camps on the TV, the conditions are not good. We shall figure out a way to get you a place in this country. You know what Irfan, I was brought up in India and I came across various religious scriptures through my journey in literature, I never came across the Persian philosophy and I believe an ideal person sits right in front of me. If you can, come with me to my place today?”

“It will be a pleasure to get out of the camp, I cannot guarantee about the philosophy. I have disappointed my father, I don’t follow the practice of the religion, only the meaning.” That was exactly what I needed for the centric theme of my idea, the meaning and not the tradition that exploits only conflicts and pride.

“I have a few more class. You may spend some time in the library, I will meet you there at 2 o clock.”

 

 

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.

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.

Symphony of Symbols: Linkin Park-Heavy Music Video Interpretation

Music brings arenas of life that cannot be surrounded by the social walls and with a suplement of a music video, the story can renovate or evolve revolutions to the man kind. The development of music has witnessed how the impact of arts can be traced down through the society; every movement in the history associate them-self with an anthem that propagate their agenda, a simple example can be the origin of the Sufi movement and the musical contemporary to the divine belief set.

The contemporary might be the place of peace and an elaborate sense of customs that can make lives fairly productive, but the medical advancement stands weak in front of a plague that is hunting down a major population on the globe.

The mental distress has provoked a sense of agony in the different age groups and lifestyle, escapism has found another avocation of healing with the outspread of this tendency. Linkin Park, a band that screen out symbolism of the contemporary at its best always finds an important issue to rhyme for the world stage.

The latest song, Heavy is captured in a direction frame where a girl is left unrecognized in the video and the man who is associated with it, cant seem to fathom himself and therefore his relationship with the female.

The lyrics produce a strong command over the relationship with metaphor that brings the intensity of the importance. The female brings out a lost entity that general aggression of life dissolves into an invisible power.

The reference can stand on a mystical ground defining the female to represent a soul, or even a simple structure of the lost sense of satisfaction in the modern world. The music video is wrapped under a dull vision, enumerating the amount of confusion and agony that a contemporary man holds against life.

Simple references of the universe and the weight holds significance to bring out the symphony that is set as a target.

The modern escapism theories are integrated with this need to find the lost conscious entity and explore the power of the union that can provoke the sense of satisfaction and understanding in the complex puzzle of the social structure.

Linkin Park- Heavy

 

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.

 

Mira’s Darkness

Held by the symphony of the universe,

She danced to the music of the rain,

But the world, too rational to understand,

Drove a concrete wall to her land,

She blended her love into a rhyme,

For the world to dance in the night,

But how do they fathom darkness as their light,

How do they believe the world doesn’t render their dreams,

She plated the words onto a social plane,

Thinking maybe the souls will rejoice the claims,

And dance to the beats of the illusion that these shadows create,

But nothing was left of her to preach the world,

She went as one to the source of the song,

And the world was left with a blur of her aim,

They danced, but only on the plate she made,

Only her words remained under the literal space,

And here a son writes her account misunderstood by the human race.

Infinity to an Eye

One universe, One eye,

The solace hidden in the circle of our life,

Pulling the globes of consciousness,

Yet we revolve with the rhythm of our lies.

One day the planets will dissolve into the sun,

And the essence of life will meet its beginning,

The beginning of the song that created the vast illusion,

Shall preach the real infinity,

Into the black hole and off the galaxies,

The shadows will dissolve into a narrow sea,

And only the one, the one will be sensed through the shapeless beings.

The narrow sea, an escape from the world behind.

But everything will disappear into a illusion,

As an irony when I open my eyes.