A thought is like a virus. Incapable
of surviving on its’ own, a thought emerges in the mind and commands its due
respect. Eliciting the good or the bad as per its origin, it then vanishes into
some obsolete corner of the mind, lying dormant and perhaps patiently waiting
for a time to come back and give its receiver the same experience as before. Or
maybe just fade away, as a distant time and place, to probably never come back.
The moment a thought gets its
foothold on the mind it grows, like a cancer, and reaches a point when it
becomes painful enough to become a voice in the head. The voices that soon
start commanding the senses… And the senses that start playing with the mind….
And the mind that deals the devils hand.
They scream and shout inside
your head. Making waves and shaking all bits of sanity from the nerves. The
shook-up nerves straining under the pressure as the voices grow loud, asking
you to do crazy things. Reeling under the pressure of the mind we run, out of
shear fear that drives us from one corner to another. Twisting and turning,
running and panting we move, to get out of the ominous shadows that loom,
threatening to wipe the existence of the tiny troubled soul. I don’t know about
angels but its fear that gives men wings. It now makes perfect sense to me when
I repeat the sentence in my mind. The same sentence which had left me chuckling
when heard the first time.
I remember someone telling me
once that the best way to drown the voices in your head is to drink. The
alcohol apparently clears the head and makes it all go away. It obliterates
that, which we want to be rid off… And so I drink. Glass after glass of that copious
elixir, that which burns down my throat and the soul. The world moves around
like a spectrum of light swooshing around in a fast motion, like the thoughts
that flow from the beginning till the end of time. It swerves inside the head,
swaying from one side to another like a sailor being tossed around on the
choppy waves. I drink till I can barely move my hands or my god forsaken body,
as both languish and render any movement useless. The mind spins like a wheel,
and moves everything else along with it; except for those unholy, ungodly
voices. I laugh like a maniac. Hysterical at the conundrum.
Funny thing is that they get
clearer and bolder, with every brain cell dying in the stupor.
And when I throw up and I puke
my guts out, I wonder whether that one last breath which goes into the gutter
would perhaps take these godforsaken voices along with them. I gasp for that
one last breath, holding on to the miserable and pathetic life. I curl up and
cry, and wait for my deliverance, while the voices keep growing louder and
louder.
Ah! Perhaps it’s that thick dark
cloud of brown smoke which would give me my catharsis. Taking a deep drag
inside I inhale its richness so as to float on the clouds of light. As I grow
numb and the ground beneath feels non-existent, I float high above only to fall
down into a void. A void that’s deeper and darker than the abyss. Trying to
move my hands and my legs, to grasp on to something, to take a hold and get a grip,
but failing incessantly. Shouting like a mad-man; the words that echo inside my
head, refusing to come out of my mouth. And damn those voices! Resounding inside.
Clearer than before.
The night wears on, like a dark
endless alley, without hope, without light.
Why can’t I get the voices out
of my head!? Why?? Why??? I keep shouting in the dark, and the only thing I hear
back, is my own voice. It’s funny, huh? I hope it’s just a dream….
Home is behind,
The world ahead,
And there are many paths to
tread
Through shadow,
To the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Mist and shadow,
Cloud and shade,
All shall fade!
All shall fade!
- Adaptation from A Walking
Song by J.R.R. Tolkien
