The Birth of The Flow

The next best thing to death is sleep. The debutant said:
“Believe it is true, believe it blindfolded,
Do not ask for explanations.”
‘Coz the answer had been repentant since repeated eternities.

The colours perceived through the kaleidoscope of time
Manipulate the perception of soundings,
Scribbled to estimate the depth of the mantling lake.

Out there, shelterless, sits the placid lake,
Flowing for long,
Though, from above, it is as still as any other could be.

But no one knows, (rather no one wants to know,)
That below the serene surface there is a violent turbulence —
A violent whirlwind in the water,
That had been raging since the birth of light;
The times when the knights did not exist
Because the days were yet to find sight.

The onset of the turbulence marked the birth of the dark days
Those that made their presence felt through a somber complacency
And a doubtful veil.
“Let there be light,” repeated it,
Without realizing the fact that
It had been flowing for too long to survive.

It was born aged; with grey hair; wrinkles all over its face.
Its eyes had been strangulated, drowned and almost killed.
On amputated limbs – it barely survived.
There was that wrath of evil fungus covering its entire self
And spun around its nimble feet were sticky whelpish cobwebs.

The dark times weren’t stagnant; they changed forms.
And in all its shape it hid itself in a new-born’s attire —
Growing every moment and yet confused.
Does the Sense exist?
To it, the Sense had been defiant;
Sticking on the bottom of a wet glass,
Neither moving nor letting anyone move.

Weird, but not impossible, that the Sense ever misguides you,
(Or does it?
It doesn’t know.
Maybe the Sense is right.
Or maybe… wrong.
The choice is open
And is evenly balanced
Like twins sitting opposites.)
Tells you that the lesser light is the sun and the bright fire is the moon.
Who knows? They are just names.
Names that the universe beckons and an individual defies.

And in this depressive confusion will it continue toflow,
Still unseen from outside.
But if someone dips in, can feel the warmth of the turbulence inside,
And can also drown oneself in the affection of the turbulence.
Death will not touch the person,
But sleep may stroke his or her eyes.

Do not wake up,
Believe in the reality of the trance.
It is belief that tells that you are alive,
And it is only belief that will keep you asleep
Till you have stopped flowing.
Until everyone opens their eyes and sees
That the lake has flown away, leaving behind nothing,
No evidence of existence, except a dark, deserted void.

4 Replies to “The Birth of The Flow”

  1. Wonderful language no doubt! 🙂 … But I guess Shubro is right! Kobitar kothaye jeno ekta khei hariye felchhi porte porte (mayb it’s my fault.) Actually the thoughts are quite abstract strung together by spellbounding language! 🙂

    Keep it up! 🙂

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