The roaring waves from the sea and the ephemeral breeze coming from the distant park, started a train of thoughts in my brain opening fast channels for neurotransmitters exchange which stimulated my fingers to grip the curves of the pen and to start “sambra” dance with my fingers.
I am trying to find myself for decades, maybe from the genesis of my first atom produced in the farthest part of an unknown galaxy floating in clouds of unseen.
My inner being is such empty that I can hear the echo of my unspoken words gravely. Such loneliness, that soul has transposed itself like a cavern.
Sometimes, I find myself puzzled in a spider’s web formed in corner of my room gazing at that enigma for minutes without blinking eyes or sometimes being wedged in suicidal riddles.
Sometimes, listening to an old playlist feels like a flash of memories dancing in front of me, and find myself in the mud of the past roaming in lanes of your reminiscence.
Now, that creaky sound of the door is cutting me inside out and sometimes complete silence also starts roaring in my ears.
I don’t want to submit myself to Nirvana ” now, neither I want to entangle with the melody of nature. I suppose myself at that point; where I don’t desire to owe her, because I have started a mutiny against her, a revolt against love, revolt against society, and at a point revolt against myself…
Over the past several days, I have undertaken complete silence, because couldn’t gain anything from being talkative.
Could being talkative will sum up to any conclusion?
Maybe, yes!
But, I always gained ego.
But now, the curtains of my room, the concrete made roof having fan hanging over there making creaky sounds, useless opening of the door, senseless gazing of cook after serving me tea, everything distracts and disturbs me now, it stinks my existence. In this condition I myself take my hand and go out for a walk, there’s a pump at the corner of the street where I wash my face, so that worries may wipe out like water from my face.
The chirping of birds, the quiet dog leaning over the shoulder of the road, the birds crossing in front of the sun’s radius look like black moles over the cheek of the sun. I make a long walk to myself a longer walk, I start taking fast steps like I am going to run now. When Heartbeat starts deranging in such hustle I take myself back home.
Anxiety floats over my face like a sinusoidal wave has been distributed. The day fades over and the eventide succeeds. Finally, the night opens its wings and covers the glory of chaos.
The circle repeats itself, the unending misery of life and death never stops.
The Great Alone
