Amidst the nightmares of shambolic times, do I unlearn the art of loving,
Amidst the darkness of unheard tears, do I bleed my untold lores,
Amidst the madness of a frantic chase, do I loose the reigns of sobering hopes,
Amidst the noise of silent emotions, am I paralyzed by the demons of sober souls.
A blank verse, with a meaning as vague as the meaning of life to me in the current moment; In these moments do I feel the order in the chaos, an indistinct muttering of lonely souls. A soul, that is characterized by the laughter and smiles on its facade and an unending cave of agony lying beneath the false cover. The human that stopped being, the human who just was. Broken into fragments as fine as the grains of sand, do I breathe on the incense of the moments that’s vestige of the storehouse of memories.
Culminating from deep within, withering with the passage of time, the facade seems to loose its sheen, with the pressure on the inside growing by leaps and bounds every moment that etches its existence in the timeline of this universe. I feel like a star, a star that’s battling the end, beginning to collapse on its own self, consuming all it could find of itself just to burn a little longer, and then collapses enough to blow it all apart, into the most splendid explosion that the universe witnesses.
Its not just the explosion that’s splendid, the most splendid moments appear of the blow-off, with whats left of the star, collecting material together, collapsing on itself again trying to sustain something out of nothing and then is the commencement of a journey that gives rise to the heavens or the monsters, thats where my wondrous mysticism takes me to, it’s where I fear being, the moments after the explosion. Every star explodes but some give rise to stupendous nebulae, while the others withdraw themselves from their surroundings so bad that they live off by feeding on the light and anything that comes their way, the black tormentors of the universe, the black hole.
I am not afraid to end, I am just unsure, unsure as to what will become of the face beneath the mask after loosing its original facade. The bigger the ending, the deadlier the new facade. But do I have a choice? And what if I did have a choice to choose what becomes of me?
Nebula or Black Hole?
Life Giver or Light Eater?
Beauty or Power?
The easier the words, the harder to choose. To many, the choice might be easy, the obvious positive, but when it comes down to beauty or power, I doubt many will remain fixated to their actual choice!