Meera's Lair: The Last Layer

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

The Last Layer

Yes we are both victims,
I, of my imagination
You, of your realities
I, of my ambition
You, of your perception
I, of sordid passions
You, of intense compulsions
I, of my death
You, of your life

We are both actors
and this world is our stage
We are both painters
this world is our muse
We are both artists
this world..our canvas.

No comments:

Post a Comment

The Canvas

I was walking on a predestined path in life when I encountered another human who couldn't have been more dissimilar to me in appearance. While I was shining with the light of my ambition, she was glowing with the potential of giving birth to immense possibilities which may or may not survive the torrential currents of this birth. But if she did not care less, I couldn't care more. I knew she was the one who's going to be the ray of hope for the path that I had to take from here. Even if the path was predestined, after I met her I realized that it was wrong, it was false, it was narrow, and it lead nowhere. It was with her that I had to take the rest of journey. Now the Question was, how to convince her?
I knew that my other weapons would just melt in the luminosity of her grace, my innate masks would just sublime in front of her experiences. I knew that there was nothing about me that would penetrate deep enough in her being to make her even as much as look at me.
I chose a weapon that I had seldom used, it was the most powerful and I had absolutely no control over it. It could have hurt me as much as it could have hurt her, it could have destroyed the possibilities of the future as well as the indubitable present. I chose honesty and it worked.

I am in Meera's Lair now. I am a part of her life, humbled by her gesture I am striving to pen a few words, for her, with her, about her, it's all ambiguous and yet it is defined. It's abstract, but it nevertheless exists. It's imaginary, but it's concreteness has no parallel in the world and beyond, in the past and the future, in the truth or in falsehood.

The Poet

I am a weaver, I weave emotions over those threads of life which criss cross each other to create the wholeness of the canvas. I weave emotions into those withering forms which are subject to atrocities of the world, which are stretched beyond their limits in the daily lives, in the struggle to survive, I weave pain into that surrender, which is to the entities that incite this violence. I give them color and I give them shape, and I sew them when they are torn. But only in imagination! In reality my impact is no more than to give dreams, than to show films, than to incite feelings, and yet the concreteness of my conviction over-whelms the real concrete, because it makes you travel, beyond yourself into another world, and you lose hope to ever return. I create dreams. I weave a canvas. And in between those threads, very minutely, very discreetly I caress the shape and outline of the form and I create those detailed emotions. I give the canvas the color that it desires. .