Monday, February 9, 2009

The Meteor

The blackest of moods often descend on the liveliest of people, completely engulfing and trapping them, rendering them incapable of enjoying the small joys of life which are so absolutely essential to a happy existence. The nearest I have ever been to tying this despair in the shackles of words is a pitiable attempt. Life becomes a fruit squeezed of its nectar- and it does not stop there- its squashed and trampled upon by every small misery that treads the path, bruised and battered it lies there craving for a kind eye a kind touch –for what- just to be thrown into the dustbin. Does not appear very inviting, does it?

To add to these uninvited, unexpected and detested black moods there exists a human tendency in all individuals (especially me) to fall prey to irrational, unexplained but completely crippling desires. Here I paraphrase Ed - without these needs life is a an endless night but there are tiny pinpricks of reason but then a sudden need shoots through the night sky like a meteor lighting up everything. And when the meteor has passed leaving behind darkness, somehow more pressing than before, everything vanishes. The stars still exist but its just the eyes which have been blinded, incapable of looking at reason and finding zest.

Yesterday I fell prey to one such longing. My heart would listen to no reason and see no fact, it refused to behave rationally threatening to burst or shrivel- whichever it felt was easier- if I did not listen to it. Paintings, colours, other curious little pieces and originality of thought which usually exhilarate me ‘hath no shine’. What I wanted was to feel the brilliance of a writer long dead but never forgotten. I wanted to see and marvel at the words written ages ago but which still stand true, words which have withstood the blows of time and promise to keep doing so, words which attain a musical quality never apparent when they stand alone. I wanted to read poetry.

Often the next best thing suffices a lesser mind but the tricky part is finding that next best thing, afterall ‘all that shines is not gold’. Hence the tragedy of the lesser mind is that its companion, the heart, need not go through the pain it manufactures for itself but the mind’s poor judgment leave it with no other option than to endure. As for me, I tried writing something. Two unfinished poems and several unfinished prose pieces later this option proved to be a fault of my lesser mind’s judgment.

Thus longing and craving I went to sleep but alas there was no solace in dreams too, what of interest can come out of a poor mind and a broken heart…

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