The Gift Of Being Left Out

She looked out from the open window. The rain was pouring down beautifully from the dark clouds. She longed to hear the splatter of drops on the wet pavements. She thought to herself about the soft sound the wind would make while rustling past the wet leaves. She wished she could hear her own voice. Her little world had been oblivious to sound since she gained consciousness, but today, these were the only things she felt misfortunate for in her life.

There were days when she stared around herself, completely lost and terribly broken. She used to seek for meanings in the harrowed spans of silence that once were her sole companion. She considered them her foe, her nemesis. Her silence was usually broken by array of dreams where she visualized paradise and life beyond her inferno.

Soon, the void of emptiness cleared. She grew up and her silence became the river of her knowledge. Her eyes became the receptor of sounds. Though still unable to hear, she started to acknowledge the calmness in her silence. She looked around herself and saw dilapidated people getting agitated over a slight unwelcome note falling upon their ears. It then occurred to her, “The gift of being Left Out.”  

It came like a blissful shower over her thirsty land. The gift of being left out from the hollers of violence, the whispers of greed, the hisses of betrayal and the sighs of helplessness. Her silence was a carnival of peace, generous in its giving. The gift wore the mask of the everlasting light in her deep abyss, lighting her soul with bright rays of hope and life.

Years passed on in comprehending her gift. Sorrows were inflicted, but the fathom of understanding has been deepened. Today, she whispers to her silence, absorbs her void and searches her abyss for the profound knowledge of her own self. Her gift has always been there, regardless of time and space, guiding her towards horizon, guiding her towards her Sun. 

Be My Muse, O Rain

I kneel down in front of you,
O rain,
Be my muse, my savior, my redemption.
Descend from righteous heaven to this dreary earth,
And wipe away the sins of mankind.
For thou is the holy water,
And thou is the saint sent to wipe away the charlatans.

Let every touch of thy drop be angelic,
And let every crystal of thy perish the violence slowly.
Bathe me out of my misdemeanors,
And turn me into a faithful believer.
Let your flamboyant purity,
Deliver me from the darkness  into an eternity of light.

I seek love in the creaks of the cloud,
From where thou set your foot in our realm.
I delve for the final completion of myself,
In the way thou caress my skin.
Let the shining crystals in the heart of your droplets,
Fill my soul with rays of forgiveness.
I kneel down in front of you,
O rain,
Be my muse, my savior, my redemption.

The Doubt Of Existence

I see around myself and I see people craving for an escape. An escape from the reality which haunts them to their cores. The primal need of gratification lies within them. I ask to all those wretched beings, “Is your life really worth all the pains?? Are you sure that this all is real??” Rocking in my wooden chair, I think to myself, are we living a dream?? Or is this a reality??

I try to convince myself that this is real, where even molecular actions and wronged choices can have painful repercussions. But, what if, in the end, this all is just a dream? A moment suspended in time. A bubble waiting to be pricked. An eternity in space. Can it be possible that I started dreaming yesterday night and today never occurred? Or maybe that my whole life is just a mere dream.

I am deeply fascinated by an abstract idea that our whole lifetime is just the outcome of powerful subconscious. And when we die, we actually wake up in a space which is hanging between two different dreams and we fall back to sleep and start dreaming all over again. In other words, start living another lifetime. What if a person never really dies? What if we all are just asleep somewhere in the infinity? What if we all don’t exist and are the figments of imagination of a single supreme entity?

Many may refer to this entity as God, our Creator. As prophesied by the elders of our generation, “It is He who controls our destiny, our thoughts”. I’m enchanted by the thought that we are just a derivative of His vision, His vivid imagination. We don’t have our own existence. We are just some ripples scattered over His ocean of subtle subconscious.

I look at my hands, my face and my body. Do I really exist? Is my creator, sleeping somewhere in the distant space, has created my soul, which in turn is his dream. Is this body a shield which my creator has wrapped around my soul, to protect the eternal heart of his dream??

A traveller I am, tip-toeing between the lines of chimera and real world. I wish my thoughts are carried away in the dead of night and answers are reverberated to me by soft morning winds. Till then I consider the world around me as fake and I refuse to trust what I see. I wander in dusts, through hills I roam and wait for the day when all will be revealed.

I go back to ground zero, rocking in my chair I think to myself, Is this a reality?? Or is this a mere dream??

The Eagle's Slave

I am often intrigued by the fascination I can garnish for an interest of mine so suddenly, as if I am struck by a bolt of lightning. That interest can be a particular genre of music to which I’m connected to, a poetry which I have written or any character driven novel which I relish. What is it in me that flaps its wings so vehemently, which gathers its strength so intensely, that my own will surrenders to its mighty power?

I see the world around me fading away into nothingness and I see, hear and breathe my fascination, my interest, my addiction. As if, I’m overpowered by the will of the ‘Creature’ living inside me. I always thought of this entity as an Eagle. So omnipotent, so glorious in its vigour, that it outshines the light of my soul. The Eagle which erupts from the endless pit of my heart, engulfing my responsibilities and forcing me to kneel down in front of her, satiating her thirst, her desires.

I remember all those futile attempts I made to keep my focus on the cumbersome obligations of my monotonous life. But that flaming, enormous bird clouds my vision and compels me to follow her path, the path to eternal wisdom. In the dead of night, she speaks to me, “As long as a being has no knowledge of his own soul, this world will remain oblivious to him, hidden by a mysterious veil. To attain enlightenment, one has to follow his heart and worship his dreams.”

The astounding realisation of passion which I accumulate  for my interest gives me a profound satisfaction. ‘The sacred peace’, as some may call it. Gust from the wings of The Eagle drives away the turmoil in me and grant me solace. She blesses me with Life.

Now, I need to take leave. My Eagle is calling me. She wants to embrace me. The eternal unison waits. She wants to set me free. I need to go, for I am, in the end, My Eagle’s Slave.