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

Incarnation of The Words

 A little dwell on the pen to enumerate an expression,

To let the ghost be aware of the dark,

Or the dark be afraid of my ghost,

To entangle a hopeless vision and adore,

A million feelings that knock my door.

A poet, they say need the cry of the muse,

But will they ever know the secret of the doom?

For every time, I lose myself into the room of words,

I call upon a thousand spirits,

To guide my hands and spell the right song.

Enumerating through my past,

The affair of the ink to last,

To repeat the same sentiment of my greed,

I befoul myself into a clown.

To paint me in the ink and enrol the aura of belief,

A poet, they say need the cry of the muse,

But who am I to lie?

I can only wonder and host a point of view.

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.

Naissance Dans Les Paroles

Vous? Avez vous vole dans ce ciel?

Si! Vous avez des ailes de paroles.

From the reverberance of the soul,

To the elusive rhythms of the globe,

I traveled from word to word,

Born with a vernacular of nature,

Driven to the valleys of the world,

Brought up with lures and notes,

Mysteries unraveled and grabbed my thoughts with sigh,

Till I rest and escape back to the reverberance of the sky.

The wings of the words, flying over the verse of life,

With colours blended into the flight,

Rather fading as we reach the sky,

At the end of this poem we meet,

As one, with no words left to escape the lie,

But we look at the naked night of the space,

Where the words had no religion or race,

Blind on the surface we were left to die,

Fly out to the truth of this verse,

Break through the bonds of the world.

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.

 

Mother to the Universe

Dropped down to the celestial tray in the clay,

Brought up through a vivid theme from a play,

Drowned into a suffocated sense of need,

Driven through a valley forcing the air as believe,

The spirit was left within an abstract of her dream.

She is the mother of existence that surrounded the sight,

Where the little soul was left to fight,

Only the essence know the reason behind,

Hidden in the common lies,

And someday the soul will cry,

And the mother will help her remember a broken tie,

The bond that revolved the stars to resonate the faith,

The bond that shall recall the mother to destroy the dream of need.