Friday, November 25, 2011

A Perennial Fiction in My Heart

The light fell on your face, coming from the distant street lamp.
And lots of shadows.
An unknown rhythm I felt, in you, in me, in the surrounding.
You must go, you must go soon… But stay just a little while?
I’m just emerging from the grey of my heart. I’m just breathing in your smell. I’m just living in your arms, in an intransient warmth, that would linger even when I cannot feel your breath through my hair anymore. ‘Cause you’re gone.
And now you will become a metaphor. In my delusional dreams I’ll refrigerate you until I run out of my sense of energy. An energy you are leaving within me, a part of you merged into my dusty young soul.
You’re somewhat like the cigarette burning between my fingers. The smoke fades away behind the curtain of air, but the smell remains, and the stains.
You looked into my eyes, my blurry eyes, and I perceived you as the most enthralling hallucination ever. I was wrong. You were real.
The dew on the grass blades, was shinning as if it had rained diamonds on this earth, and it was wet; as the evening was falling into winter’s arms – I made you sit down in the shadow, I fell into you.
To you I’m a psychedelia; to me you’re an enigma. But I know you. I have felt you in my bloodstream. I have lived you, as you defined me, as you discovered me, as you loved me.
Did you?
That touch was eerie. That embrace was out of the world. You rushed into my head, you tasted my breath, you collapsed into me; and I to You.
A void heart you have chosen, who would point at your mistake?
I would stare at your lips, dry-dead skin, and breathe you in.
The existence of this world started to get fainter as you told me life was worth living, love was worth waiting for. I believed. No more tears to shed, no more fears to runaway from… only a hollowness, a hole, you are leaving somewhere in me.
…In the day we were puffing and just living. I was stepping on stones floating in the sky…feeling warmth on my shoulder. Was it you? Was it? I guess.
The phantom kissed on my forehead, and its blackmagic soul fell in love with me… Me … I’m a nowhere rebellion tethered with extreme rights and wrongs of life. Seeking salvation. Being a non-believer. I still am. Only that I’ve found serenity, in my place that you showed me. And you showed me a piece of heaven residing in a secret garden placed somewhere within the rusty brick world.
White ghost trees painted grace on my iris. Mesmerized, I felt my existence being divided, a soul and a body. The soul reached out to the isle of abandoned dreams, of forgotten childhood, of yellow memories, of foggy love. The body stood still. And you reached out to me, brought my soul back into the body. Offered me life, a greater one, and showed me a path of faith to enlightenment of the Truth. You answered my questions and left yours for me.

We walked. We sat. We felt.
And I discovered you in an esoteric place, I delineated you, yes you; and I learned to admire parts of you, visible and invisible ones… your curls, your eyes, your jaw line, your voice, your energy, your existence.
I’m fallen.
And I’ve decided to stay here, sleeping wide awake, until you come and make it rain on me from your obscure clouds again.
I wanted to write more. But then we didn’t drink Rum in winter days.

--just unrequited delusion of fictitious reality--



quartertoinsane said...

eerily beautiful...

P i x i e said...

because it's real...somehow.. :]

Anonymous said...

"And now you will become a metaphor."
What can this mean?
Lets try..

1. But metaphors do slide, dont they? Like words. A word points to a "meaning", but that 'meaning' is another word all the same, and (as the post-modern cliche goes)none can reach that "originary meaning/word" EVER! In this sense

2. so all words are metaphorical, and they slide. Like that ship that slides on, and never reaches home, metaphors are like anchors,it can give a moments rest but NOT the shore.

3. but then what does it mean when one writes "and YOU will now become a metaphor" ..? That you will now point to many other things to me, sliding through them, but not remaining you anymore, and I do not hv you as an anchor anymore..?? Like once you were,
"as you defined me, as you discovered me, as you loved me." ??

4. .......

.. well too much words lol, but just for I liked this entry, and see a wonderful logic running thru it! Keep it up!! ;)

*sOmeOne* :)

P i x i e said...

I'd rather stick to the classical definition which implies that metaphors are paint on the blank canvas, defining it, and making it beautiful and meaningful. (leave the sense of art here)

Anonymous said...

Ofcourse :)And that also does lead to the Aristotelian definition(but which is rather general)I alluded to.
The canvas is 'originally' blank, remember...? The metaphor hides an abyss (again anchor)...
But can there be a canvas to see without the paint on it? (Can U see the blank all by itself? is the canvas nothing else but the paint on it?)and so on.
what you meant by "leave the art"? :) anyways, nice reading ur other posts too.


RUDRA said...

Grt work

Tathagata Ghosh said...


xyzandme said...

Well written. Play of words was nice..

English is a funny language.
It follows grammar, not logic.
No wonder it fails miserably in explaining natural laws.