Lost someone, ( Au Revoir or Bonjour? )
Leaning against the old, rusted frame of that single asset in her grim room – the derelict corner window, she gazed at the vast, dark and hauntingly muffled sky through the broken glass ; as broken as her own void self. The muteness of nights would always remind her, how lonely the life could be. The still life would cue how solo the moment could turn out. And altogether, a notion imprinted, how forged she could be. Sometimes, a single loss is so infinite that you just get stuck in the ache it creates inside your chest. A single moment of down fall turns out to be so poignant that all your life, you just keep on be a victim of that stinging delusion it creates over your being. Not if directly, but somewhere deep inside your psyche it exits. To sting you with all the ache and poison your soul. To eat you and hence you get writhen, eventually, deep inside. While the wind was creating that wooshing sound, she felt the dampness of her cheeks as it passed by. Yes, the limit was crossed. That very fragile limit of uncertain patience beyond the peak of silence; it was broken now. Tears rolling down the cheeks like stones, and her soul being torn apart of the chaos it created.
~ A Crimson Chaos ~
Chaos so glistering, with many vibrant shades, each of different glaze.
~ 50 shades of a voilent Chaos ~
How usually it happens that the pain of a certain happening is so profound which catches your soul in some gloominess with a lot of wretchedness? It paralyse you, and all the spark inside the living spirit making it a stone and turning you into some numbed mass. While walking around, along the four corners; that usual territory of a dour vibe, she wondered.
“Live, Laugh, Love, Smile, Enjoy”, suddenly her sight was greeted by this delusive notion written on that card paper pasted on one of the four walls of this lugubriousness, she was breathing in. It got her chills. That excessive shuddering feeling. Haven’t you realized yet that the sting of torment in the moment is more intense than entailment? Haven’t anyone yet believed that the cry of despair has got more vividness than that of a smirk? Haven’t you realized yet, that tears are more unfathomed than the bliss of giggles? Haven’t you inferred that the weariness caused by Dismal December and its spine-chilling ghoulish can sting equally intense in the Summer ’95? While lost into the usual lounger, boohooing and striving against the benighted breathe, the verses of her memoirs rang the bell;
She is a belle;
Of auguries of innocence,
Of black magic
and all the poison.
Keeping sanity –
In haunting nights,
Tranquility and turmoil –
She felt her soul even more entangled in the piercing poison of that one regret, the only throb and that single grief as she moved around; from one corner to another in complete nothingness and void. The dogged silence was suddenly broken by the tick tock of that distorted clock, dangling in a vague impression of time. That single regret caught the grip of her being, her very own existence while merged in repents, so tightly that it numbed her. Completely lost. Every day she would sit in an empty desolate hour’s delusion and mourn over the grip in which her soul, her life, her will, all her hopes and every aim was caught. Alone she would cry. Weep – over and over again. For it wouldn’t show her weakness but the fact that she has been strong for long or atleast pretended so. The words echoed in her heed ;
when you are alone
You must cry.
For all those blue eyes,
and glum faces –
Would never lie.
It is laughable how concerned people pretend to be. All the dear and beloved ones who claim to be your well wishers and sincere fellows turn out to be such an epic fail in understanding you. They’d surely pay heed to your messed up room but they usually turn out to be too illiterate in understanding how messed up your life is. No one in this world has died of any one’s else sufferings yet and none will ever die for nobody can ever understand you till it comes to the person, himself. At the edge of life when you eventually turns out to be too familiar with hard lucks, troubles, constant wretchedness and glum hour you realize that the only weapon left is nothingness. Yes, while standing on a cold slab of ice when you feel like the rays from the sun of miseries are too hot to melt the chilliness, the soul gets drowned in the nameless sea as a nameless droplet.
While sitting in that corner of her memoirs, all this chaos of thoughts was bashing her already torn up spirit. She burst into tears and tried to wipe the dust of darkness over the beautiful reminiscence. She slightly raised up her head and sneaked into the time of bliss and giggles. Her throat felt the presence of a lump and her heart felt the ache which was so intense to equally pierce her chest and spread the throb. Nobody could understand her, she sighed while she puffed an emit in despair. Parents ? Siblings ? Relatives ? Friends? No one was there to see what is hidden behind the veil. No one could infer the scary secrets behind her apparently ok-fine-grin. Not a single one was able to understand how destructive the bedlam of her inside was?
There were only suspirations, the abstruser of supression – the supression of her fragility, the stolen forged glances and smiles to pretend.
Standing on the cross road junction, the pieces were scattered around. Amidst the writhen soil, a person in solitude – the gloomy abandoned soul. She was baffled. She was torn. She was melancholic. She felt to burst anytime soon of all that life offered her. One failure shattered her. Another was there present ahead, open and wide to kill her. Where to escape? Any place? NO! Every time setting a new dawn after a sheer loss in the parting sunset, is not possible. When you are empty and hollow as vast. When all you can think of is, the bricks life throws at you. When everything you have is just a big heap of tears, regrets, repents and all the grieves that haunt you. When the narrow ray which used to enter in the dark room through the cracks, cease completely. At such point, you turn out to be a senseless stone which in the batch of concrete existing just as another dead rock, next to it.
Staying strong? For how long she could stay so? No, she was a mere lump of flesh who was too fragile to be torn. No shoulder can surely lessen the burden but apparently those who claim to be concerned, if fail to understand the secrets behind the laughter, it breaks you apart.
Sitting on the level of her knees, trembling and brutally broken into tears she murmured ;
” Am I that cursed to lose my very ownself? The actual ME I used to be, once. I am so weak, so confounded, so intricate that I am unable to solve the doubts. How do I solve this puzzle? Yes, I do ask HIM. I pray too. But the burden is too much for the frailty of myself and my inside. How do I handle it? How do I handle these flames into which I am burning constantly? How do I maintain my balance against these ashes? How do I escape these gusts of my torn luck which are piercing me brutally? How do I revive that stone dead hope which no longer exits? How do I revonate my aims, my goals? How do I strive for getting in there before broken into pieces? NO. No one is there. I’ve no shoulder to lean upon, no hand to hold, no fingers to wipe the tears, Nothing at all. But I don’t need these fake illusions, the forged supports. I just want to come out of these troubles. I also want to smell the morning breeze and touch the night’s dew. I also want to feel the real giggle and live the triumph.
Amidst this pandemonium I stand still. Myself – numbed. I, turned into a dead stone. Couldn’t they see I’ve lost much and nothing more is there to lose? Couldn’t they feel the subtleness of this phony and the vagueness of this pretending?
Asking HIM, I shrieked. I shouted so my voice may reach to HIS divinity. I, too, want a bit of mercy. I need YOU, as well. I am also one among the troop you embraced with everything. You are just, I know. Still, in the darkness all around, I hope. A dead hope is there. I don’t know how to utter via my quivered lips and dreaded spirit that how much I need YOU BUT I know, YOU have sensed it already. I need my part. I need my bit. I am tired. I am tired of living. I am tired of myself. I am tired of my life. No, it is not about letting go every time, why don’t you understand, O’ vibe!? It isn’t about relaxing every time. You may do it, for you are in peace but don’t you feel yourself thief of the fact you can see the light but others can not? Don’t you feel the guilt, O’ stone-hearted fellow humans, for the fact you can smile but others can not? You can hear the happy laughter but others can not? You’ve robbed sincerity.
I want.. to.. be…settled…”
And the words were lost for she was broken into uncountable pieces. A lot was left unspoken where words turned to be too expensive for uttering due to all the throbs, disobliges and wretchedness.
“If possible, return my actual self to me, the real me, that old time, the same luck, the good fortune and all the triumph. Also, do write a bit, from the vast sea in my account, a little bit, may be! “
ECHOED in the room was one stance:
Killing your dreams earlier on time is way better than suffocating over them for ages which do no good but make you writhen at the end, finally!
They can’t be killed? Or then they’ll haunt you like nightmares?
But do you know,
“The twinge of broken expectations and crumbled dreams is way more intense than the dread and wretchedness of that haunt the nightmares may keep.”
That torn awaiting one you left to dangle till death.