Ramblings of an Incoherent Mind

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

The Canvas of my Life

It’s like the Light -
A fashionless Delight -
It’s like the Bee -
A dateless - Melody -

It’s like the Woods -
Private - Like the Breeze -
Phraseless - yet it stirs
The proudest Trees -

It’s like the Morning -
Best - when it’s done -
And the Everlasting Clocks -
Chime - Noon!

- It’s Like the Light by Emily Dickinson

My life has the color yellow like the bright and blazing sun; that which radiates light and vigor. My life has the color orange like a blooming marigold; that which gives its songs to the bumblebees. It has the color light green like that of a freshly cut grass; that which gives shelter to the soft morning dew. It has the color light blue like the bold and beautiful sky; that which stretches its hand across the whole horizon like an envelope of comfort. It has the color white like the beautiful lily; that which gives solemnity and tranquility to the mind. It has the color misty gray like that of the mighty mountains; that which gives peace to the soul. It has the color red like that of a blossoming rose; that which gives color to those beautiful cheek.

We knew that land once, You and I,
and once we wandered there
in the long days now long gone by,
a dark child and a fair.
Was it on the paths of firelight thought
in winter cold and white,
or in the blue-spun twilit hours
of little early tucked-up beds
in drowsy summer night,
that you and I in Sleep went down
to meet each other there,
your dark hair on your white nightgown
and mine was tangled fair?

But side by side a little pair
with heads together, mingled hair,
went walking to and fro
still hand in hand; and what they said,
ere Waking far apart them led,
that only we now know.  

- The Little House of Lost Play by J.R.R. Tolkien

My life has the color silver like that of shimmering blade; that which cuts deep down inside. My life has the color blue like that of a burning flame; that which devours the happiness of a dented soul. It has the color orange like that of mighty volcano; that which burns the shreds of a visible life. It has the color pale yellow like that of a viper’s venom; that which scorches the soul of a human kind. It has the color red like the devils soul; that which lights the fire of vengeance inside. It has the color black like that of a tainted soul; that which invokes the scorn of a broken mind.

I lost a World - the other day!
Has Anybody found?
You'll know it by the Row of Stars
Around its forehead bound.

A Rich man - might not notice it -
Yet - to my frugal Eye,
Of more Esteem than Ducats -
Oh find it - Sir - for me!

- I lost a World - the other day! by Emily Dickinson

My life has the color gray like that of a misty winter morning; that which makes my face look so pale. My life has the color white like that of the cold snow; that which gives color to death. It has the color black like that of dark night; that which takes the light away. It has the color crimson like that of a broken rusty string; that which has lost its music behind. It has the color violet like the deciduous rhododendrons; that which breaks and thusly fades. Or perhaps is has no color at all, like the chilly winds; that which shrivels the soul away.

In dreams I crossed a barren land,
A land of ruin, far away;
Around me hung on every hand
A deathful stillness of decay;
And silent, as in bleak dismay
That song should thus forsaken be,
On that forgotten ground there lay
The broken flutes of Arcady. 

- Ballad of Broken Flutes by Edwin Arlington Robinson

But then again, perhaps it is as Henry David Thoreau says, “Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.”           

When death did do us part

Growing up has been a wonderful experience. So far it has been a joyous journey that has seen its fair share of love and hate, peace and war, friendship and fall-outs, elation and disappointment, and in many ways a lot of other things.

There are some of those wonderful moments in time that i remember sharing with you; while there have been those that have been told to me over any and many of those numerous breakfast, lunch and dinner conversations that have been narrated with a lot of animation. The conversations that have most certainly always regaled all of us, no matter how many times they have been told. All those wonderful reminisces that have either made us fall out of our chairs laughing, or have left us with a loving smile on our faces.

I have been told about the nights that you had been awake, in order to get me to sleep, holding me tenderly in your arms, close to your warm and assuring body. I have been told about the mornings and the noon’s that you had spent playing with me and about the evenings that you had lovingly dangled me on your knees, making me laugh with your antics.

You held my hands and helped me walk. You dried my tears with your reassurances whenever i fell, and showed me the way. While growing up i remember coming to you all the time for that extra money, which was always needed but never could’ve been saved from the pocket money. And in my teens you would listen to my incessant rants about the unjustness of life, love and relationships.

In sickness you would sit by my side holding my hand, comforting me. Yet you would never ask me to do the same for you, when unwell.

How i remember all the things that you have done for me.

And then one day you died. I could not even see you or come to you. I could not even hold your hand and cry. You left without saying a word to me. You left me with a lot of howling and desolation inside- Standing all alone on the shores of lonely sea, with waves smashing inside. I keep a calm face but i can’t help grieve over you. How i wish to go back in time, to hold your hands with the same tenderness and love, to reassure you of everything being put to right, to stay awake the whole night with you or to just be there with you. But alas, death did do us part without any of those.  

All of my days

I have been standing at the window and looking outside as the bright light of the day keeps turning into the darkness of the night. I have been looking out at the life passing by. It keeps going without any regret, without any remorse. Not stopping for anyone or even relenting for a moment. Then why is it that my days are filled with a lot of emptiness and longing.

All i hear is to let go of you and to move on. Why then, do i keep hanging to that little thread of hope. That thin string of hope which is more of darkness, than the brightest of summer days. Why do i not let go and move on along with life when it is all so easy to let go. Why is it that my heart urges me to hold on to you a moment longer. That beyond this small passage of time life will take a turn. That you will be there and all the darkness around me will no longer exist. That there are, and will be happy endings in this life! That you will look into my eyes and just hold my hands to tell me that, Yes, i was right!

That maybe my heart will once again see the flowers blossoming in the bright sunshine of a fine spring morning. The mornings will no longer be shaded with rain, and the fog will clear from the horizon, and the sun will once again shine yellow and bright. When breathing in that cold thick air won’t be as difficult as it seems to be right now. That when you smile at me, it longer will be days of penitence.

That all my looking anxiously outside during the days and the nights, and that my constant turning away from the crowd, and my looking lost at the door will be like finding you there standing. And even this meaningless life will have a certain meaning to it.

But till then, it’s just the days that keep turning into night....