To Finities and Funny Things

Dear Death,

Right now, it is 2:03 AM and I just felt like telling you a few things. I mean, I wonder if people ever tell you things about life. People live a little fast, sleep too much, dream a little less of you and well, life is more about ignorance and happiness. You see, happiness sustains in the senses till they are not aware of how trees actually cannot speak the language of our lies. We grow up to rediscover only our fallacies.

Some star that I used to call Sparky gets named B-8779 according to this thing called NASA, or maybe they call it something else now.  Sparky told me stories about how he had hopes for me to be an amazing writer, but this world only tells me that it only burns to give off light. I mean, how does that make sense. I was reading The Little Prince today, somehow, my cognition felt down to its origin to feel better. I was also not satisfied with my day, as I could not get a response from the people I look forward to talking too, at that moment I realised that even though Sparky was not there in the sky anymore like my best friend, maybe because of the dusk in Delhi or some other scientific reason, I was alone only because I was taught what is alone. Sparky died with my acceptance of the subjects. Loneliness was born out of knowing that my father is never happy with my mother when she is not able to help him sort his issues.

You see, dear death, it almost seems to me, that we grow into your need. By default, isn’t it? We are born as a pure stack of beautiful thoughts and then we do make-believe things like chemistry and psychology and sociology and even this language that I am writing in for that matter.

I was born in a way that I admired females in a different way, then I grew older and developed sexual urges. Last week I kissed a girl and now when I am not able to have regular conversations with the girl, my mind acts a little strange. We grow into the need of death. I wish I could simply admire the girl I kissed in the manner I can without hampering my head. But that’s human, developing ideas that only hunts the life within them.

Throw a nuclear bomb at me and I will meet you, but I wonder if I will ever be able to tell you why I lived. The point is, I don’t need to know and that’s what life is, we don’t know. Philosophers like me think day and night, but we never realise that even time is just a cute tool of the mind. How much can I really know till my own mind ages into an oblivion? Why do I even need to do things? I can only have fun with sparky, every night.

I don’t know, death, I just cannot tell you about life. It’s funny. Better not to know that right now my psychology is actually suicidal. How funny is that? They call me an escapist. Even funnier!

Ah, it is humorous to find these grown-ups not able to sit down and smile for no reason.They call it madness and the complaint about how they are not content. I don’t know, I just probably want to kiss the girl again. It brings me closer to myself and to you.

Dear death, I dont know. Let me.

Regards,
Sagar Arora

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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.

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.

On the Corpse of the Cosmos

I am lost and seeking refuge. At times, at home, where everything is the same, I feel a surge of alienation. Alienation leading to the path of surreal yet complete encapsulation of illusions.

I sit down, numb everything but my forehead. It takes a while to forget the trauma of my sense. Slowly, a serene light hits the shore of my temple and I am held.
Held home, if you will.

But you won’t . So I don’t try telling people about it, I just open my eyes from the dimensions where time lacks influence on space. I open up to the world where all beings are just and lost, so I cry happy tears, knowing the reality and decay of the time.

Beautiful things are simple. Like a conversation with a friend who gets you. Although it is impossible at the versified age of human depression. But yesterday, I cried of happy tears with a friend. She could understand the light and the vision of the surreal home. So we took off to another plane and counted the dead stars in the night, while hanging out on the corpse of the cosmos.

The deal was simple, digital screens can end up in the best creative promt. We decided to let go off the entire universe, because inside encapsulation of the bent space, nothing that we are aware of really exist. Yes, the imagination led us to an inside of a dead star. It is strange and uknown to science as to what happens if someone breaks down while travelling through dimensions.

But thanks to the movie Intersteller, the virtual date got even more interesting. We visited memories in the void of that night. A few years in the broken space was funny enough to lose some tears, the good thing was that the expansion of the conscience was comforting.

It was like meditating, the wrong direction of escape but when pushed back into the realisation that it was around 2:00 AM, all we could do was smile on the broken dream.

Everything gives room for spiritual insight, its just that we forget how to smile sometimes. That one night happened for the justified carvation of these lines:

Last night, we slept on the corpse of the cosmos,
Lived a little while in her eyes,
A little in mine.
For memories and the mortality of time,
We laughed of the tears from life.

 

Quasar & Love

I am an astronaut, writing something after forty years, or maybe one, I can’t calculate. And I need to write this down, to confess what has happened to me, to hold on to my crisis. I was in love, and we were lost in the stars together, literally. I don’t know about her, don’t need to, for I was all in the oblivion of space.

The spaceship broke down. From Earth to Detroit, the planet where we were supposed to land for the research. The spaceship broke down and Manik died, he was not wearing the spacesuit. Alex was with me, fixing the oxygen supply,  we floated away from the explosion to unknown infinities.

There are certain ideas that float around in the darkness, the idea of love, of being lost, of being alone. I came to space, for there were fewer things on Earth to live for, but it seemed that space ironically did not hold the capacity to undertake emotions.

I was in love with Alex, and I suppose any two humans can fall in love when lost. I cant say that about the earth, but we were clearly in the space, lost. I was lost in love. We waited to die, the oxygen tanks were remunerated to synthesis oxygen. Oxygen could not kill us. She asked me to break her case, to push my head into the glass, so that she can be one with the universe, and not alone, lost in the darkness with me. But, I. I still had the faith of being sucked into the existential plane somehow, moreover, I loved her.

We floated in space for some time. You see, even time cannot exist in the dark. We don’t know about the day and the night, but the fact, that we are lost. She slept a couple of times, and I had to hold her suit, I could not afford to lose the sight of Alex. I did not sleep, I had a feeling she will drift away.

Soon, I passed out into my subconscious. Death? Yes, very close.

But I am writing this, sitting on an unknown planet, just like ours, but not ours. I don’t know where Alex is, I don’t know earth exists. Whether they exist. They say there is a black hole, names Quasar nearby the planet and I was sucked into the warm hole to land on a space station.

I wish I had died, I see her everywhere. She is gone, of course. Everything, one day or the other gets to be one with the universe, I will have my day.

But, one thing that suffocates me in the natural air of this alien land, is the fact, that I never really knew the women I loved. Those two times, she fell asleep, I could feel my heart beat, just looking at her alone in the void, all mine, yet gone.

She never felt that way for me, of course. She was a scientist, a practical head, she knew, we could not live, together, forever, in the darkness. She wanted to leave the darkness, once in for all. It is alright, she was humane in our insane quest to death.

You see, what kills me, is knowing that I never knew Alex and I still fell for her. She rarely spoke a few words in front of me, but I as the imaginary head created this whole story up for my diary entry.

I created the earth, space, Manik, Alex and my alien persona just to know that I never knew any girl I loved.

But this new world is greeting me well, I am imaginatively disturbed but well aware of the new place, where realisation hit me hard and I fall at times, yet the black hole that consumed my space-time for me to stay alive on this new planet was the saviour.

I was lost, therefore I loved.

For now, when I hit the rock bottom,

I am, confused.

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Electrons and Poetry

Felicity a while? It has been a long,

Each quantum shift, an infinite analogue.

Velocity and wine? Ever satisfied?

But, for many analogues, I have been drunk.

 
Revolving for the rest,

Few of us, and then, the stars.

If I leave my plane of being,

Humans might catch hold of me.

 
I move with the valiant colours in the night,

Felicity a while? It has been a long.

 
You, don’t know what I mean?

Each stroke of ink lies in the same fields,

All of my fellow negative bonds will break,

With each word, the vision will displace.

 
Felicity a while? It has been a long

Since, an electron is never defined,

Implying poetry is all divine.

Alas, my movement is the colour of your mind.

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.