Seeking Eternity

The one thing about being human is being unsteady for so long that the only way to stay still sometimes is to immerse the self into the most feral case of cynicism. Not that speed is an issue; the pleasure that fills the pit of my stomach with every dose of anticipation is unprecedented. It is the end that kills me because I know the ride is over before it even begins.

Losing focus is another way. To wake up to a day that has no definition in words or vocabulary and no metaphors, nor a ready asylum in a handful of memories that seep out of grasp by the minute. Every ‘wall’ is a door to heaven and every set of colours that you come across remains as characterless as a face in the 9 ‘o’ clock local. This is the stuff that poetry is made of, going back to basics (picking souvenirs from disorder, only to set things straight even, as I would later on like to be quoted saying) and setting everything up like an infant. Defenceless and vulnerable, handicapped and dependent-someone whose naiveté demands to be fallen in love with.

It must hurt to know that paradise is a two-bit reel that plays on as long as you can afford to keep the show going. Cynicism however is a life-long companion, a permanent bed-companion to easy life and available to anyone who has the ability to hate unfailingly. Love comes and goes easy to members of 'Live Large' league who see joy in the tiniest ever glimpses till you come to understand that being an adult is a constant struggle with the Will to Live and Reason to Wake Up Tomorrow. There are so many questions that stand at the gate of tomorrow – you most certainly can cheat it out of an answer but there are too many underhand activities involved for you to live long enough like that.

I was searching for one such answer (dutifully at my cynical best) when I looked out of my reverie and saw the leaves whispering and wagging their green heads in an important way like I have seen most adults do to offer sympathy or show understanding. The silence that cocooned their conversation concerned me. It had the vague smell of hospital corridors that you can’t rightly decide to hate or to like so I asked someone what it could mean and nobody replied. Staying there a long time, I examined sideways the uncannily human dialogue all the time thinking of myself as the special girl who infallibly sensed when the end was near. I was counting the seconds already.