Anagnorisis

She gaped at the soft pillows for ten minutes. She would do that very often. She had never been able to fit very well into her surroundings but her cocoon protected her. She was principled, but often contemplated on the significance of principles in a world run by practicalities. She was a self-proclaimed atheist but was always afraid of a divinity cursing her for not believing in the truth of life, for that is what she had always been told; that the sole truth of life is the existence of one creator and protector. She knew that she hadn't

 been questioning the existence of ‘God’ since she had gained consciousness. She began to question it only when she read about it being questioned. That was when she began to question her own being. Was anything that she thought, felt or conceived, true or for that matter, original? She was not sure. She knew that she could never be sure.

‘God’ had deceived her innumerable times. He had made a dubious world of inequalities and injustice. Stability was subjective. The world would revolve, so they said that it revolved around the sun, no matter who lived or died. Was she living? She could feel herself stroking her own hair, rubbing her eyes, swallowing a splodge of saliva. She yearned to be caressed by a man, to be kissed by her mother and liked by her friends. ‘Who are these people?’ She wondered. Why did she care so much about them? Was it because she had been conditioned to care about them or were these desires and expectations so natural and intrinsic in human beings that every person would have them. A tear from her eye created a blotch on the white bed sheet as she pondered.

She liked to think. She believed that humanity would progress only by addressing problems and questions that have not been answered. She neither believed in science or religion. Either of them weren't reliable enough to answer questions. Any question whatsoever.  She believed in experiences; abstract but tangible emotions and experiences that stayed with a person above and beyond the realm of Theology or Facts. She was thinking when suddenly a peacock flew inside her room and asked her to climb on its back. There were three ballerinas who hopped in through the window to help her get up. The bird flew into the distant sky among the spongy clouds. She felt them. They felt like cotton candy. Suddenly, they turned pink and she bit into a cloud shaped like a strawberry. She was feeling better already. Biting into a pink cloud that tasted like candy did not seem odd to her. It was as if she did it every day.

 “Maybe I do this every day and don’t seem to recall it. Who knows?”

She saw the world beneath her feet and the view from the top did not seem as good as her ‘real-life’ experiences were. She found that strange. Yet, she wanted the peacock to keep flying and never get tired. Maybe tiredness was a mental illusion. It did not stop. It kept flying beyond the horizon over the vast, lime-green sky; out of the Earth’s atmosphere. She felt a gush of emotions. Maybe she would find out, this fine day what lay beyond the insignificant planet she inhabited. The peacock flew up and above the clouds with her dancing ceaselessly on top of it. She was so overjoyed that she slipped and fell down, with a thud. There was a dramatic stir and she closed her eyes, lying on the bed; forever. This was why she did not believe in science or religion. Only she could have explained what happened after she closed her eyes. It wasn't just spiritual, it was sublime.

Uneasy

The red ants, with innocent, bulging eyes,

Scampering over the fluffy cloud,

Biting away the peace.

A pinch she felt,

But saw nobody around,

Pulling her heartstrings,

Scooping away the whole.

A bluish burn, she sensed,

Pouring through her future,

She stood there, helpless.

Imbalanced. Off-center.

Tried to win over her grimace,

Tried to find Godliness,

Tried to feign ignorance.

The farce, of Destiny won her over.

La-La-La-ing

The bed feels more comfortable now,

My smile feels wider somehow.

Thunderstorms feel like white noise,

Maybe the sun shines out of choice.

I read out of sheer pleasure,

Not just inevitable closure.

Music, certainly not just escapism,

Rekindling life and idealism.

Realisations had me wonderin’,

About exhibitions of chagrin.

Dance, music, very poetic,

Past, gloom, antithetic.

Lucid Madness

My neon heart, thundering with rage,

Is a carnival to the devil within.

My shallow soul, shuddering forsaken,

Is a carpet to the tourists.

Clichéd, melancholic eyes burning with envy,

Are an insensitive parabolic absurdity.

The happiness accompanied by the moon,

A feckless youth spent wandering.

The comfort of innumerable tears,

An ominous travesty bearing poison.

A hope for trivial meanings,

A baseless pastime.

The quest for eternal salvation,

An endless, limitless pursuit of satisfaction.

Humdrum Numb

In a world of extremeties,

I seem to be stuck in the middle.

I do not comprehend,

The yin or the yang,

When the heart, is left oblivious.

Moderation, has been an adventure,

Success, a distant season,

Excellence, an unattainable past,

Worthiness, lost in a crowd.

A mundane existence seems just that,

The paltry accounts even more so,

The spirit seems lost, trampled,

With the seemingly pointless strive, thrive?

Maybe Adam and Eve stole,

All the debuting thunder,

While Jane and Joe were left wondering,

If their existence was only to glorify,

The extremities and burden themselves,

With the painstaking eternal return.

Run

I feel like someone,

Has been pulling my heartstrings lately,

It seems like the agony,

Of fire, and restiveness,

It seems like the relief,

Of ice, and content,

It seems like the fluttering,

Of butterflies and raven locks,

It seems like the lull,

Before a storm, a heartbreak,

It seems like the happiness,

That I may never have, but desire,

I looked inside, raged with fury;

It was the wretched Amor.

Alone and contented, I was no more.

 

Creation

Why does it need catalysts?
It emanates from the soul,
Like the anger of a volcano,
Like the lump in your throat,
Like the tears that transcend,
the smile that extends,
beyond the sphere of expectation.
It gushes out before you know it,
Like love at first sight,
Like the art which caught unawares,
Like the words of regret,
Like the sand in an hourglass,
Like the moments of happiness,
Like the poetry, that emerges,
from within. From the beyond.