An Ode to May, 2013

Those unfamiliar stern faces in the gallery like reserved for those to vent their muted fates only among themselves—the colorful backgrounds of races, cultures, mindsets so minutely struggling up to keep the balance from going lopsided, the self-condolences in the form of wounded dignity for being here so in the alien land, but the core role being the same as we are. The plunging heads into a brood, the forced smiles from the simmering anxieties within as like in the process of final probation for making sour ends meet, the flustered side glances, the perturbed naked countenances… Looking at them and trying to find within them through the means of physical gestures was so stultifying but rhapsodizing at the same time despite my own being the same, the one who seeks a funny role to play here, at this building not long before the moment. Why I can't stop spotting the chill in the bone, goading at it rather voluntarily but with a detached sense sometimes? It’s to see myself in clear light, self-mirroring that I call. Yes, and here, the given chances of comparing myself with the others heterogeneous. But when ventured in a personal interaction the findings were like blurting out or rapping out coherently those crude thoughts of fated defeats as one’s staple means of being here or practical pasts so ready-made in a sort of axiomatic packages. But I wish I can meet better with firmer or more complex origins. I wish it’s going to be learning after all.

Yes, the system, the foisted means of survival makes us remain apart or blurt out so. ‘Have you ever heard about such and such country?’ ‘Yes, I have’, I admitted as I have. In return I tend to ask in the same way and thanks many have heard about Tibet too. The core atom in a thinking brain should be better fed and let be exploded at the right time to get more rather than remaining in the same narrow hold hemming in to be blind ever. If it’s to let go of the past and try to find only the much-hyped ‘happiness’ by doing so, then living is like an aberrant process charmless or like a limbo before a pitfall that can be blotted out soon afterwards. It’s to let cheat ever.

For now the most beautiful question for me is ‘Why you’re here?’ As to answer this squarely put forward question I can run back and fro along the deserted, pale, blurry lanes like a Bardowa on the run in the intermediate realm of soul. I have been anticipating in vain, but no one has asked me so yet.  A step towards maturity in a tiny form should be such a huge sacrifice, the only purpose of life I think.