More than Words !

By the fence of clear sky- he finds an unusual lopsided shape. His eyes are restless,  legs imprinting confinements  hands exploring dreams,  a sudden bloom,  full-stop. The hankering of words leaving him in a perpetual coherence,  a slow break. A sudden collapse. Her heart was an artifact.  She, 'an alien'. She came, experimented and flew away.  For him, the arrival was the end. This is the paradox of decorated hearts. The desertification of soul  where conquerors-  are just beggars. Something like that,  nothing more. Muffling snow in her eyes. Her wings, her dissolution.  Her presence, her absence. And importantly her lucidity. Now go, she says.  Where to, he says.  Anywhere she says. He does,  He is now her'e. She is nowhere !!

Wittgenstein said,  that which can be shown,   cannot be said.   Oh, how true he was. How true I am. Words are like carbon.   Some mix to form stones and papers.   Some are rare diamonds.   And I am sapphire.   Oh, how egoist of me to say so. For I am, what I make of me.   A god in disguise.   Or, the devil deceiving. Mirror oh, mirror.   Show me that which is not beautiful.   Every detail, every function.   Don't misjudge.   Don't be lost. There is none. Is there ? Life is transcendental.   Beauty is universal. Yet, humor is not acceptable.   But I have to say.   This mathematics is unusual. Gravity is sweeping me of my feet.   For me, that's magical.   And time is optional. And she is a philosopher.   My analogs are irrational.   Her eyes are rational. So mirror, the beautiful mess is   such a wonder. And I shall hold on to her.

Dimensions are shadows- of the recurrent trio of heart. Happiness, sadness  and beautiful emptiness. Heartbeats transmuted to love. Love governing the faith. Faith ruled by treachery of lies.  Lies carrying the karma.  Karma, overshadowing the life.  The repetitive cycle.  Heartbeats transmuted to love. Recycling karma.  Ad Infinitum. 

The seeds get  confused of trees- Dear brother,  why are you here ? what for ? Infertile soil hoping for miraculous life- Little struggles, her fingertips, rugged pine trees. Dear brother,  let me survive ! If this planet had a heart,  it would beat faster now ! Her eyes on temporary delays   his eyes stuck on her eyes-  for a while,  for a little while.  Tree's are illogical ! Plato said: 'Let none ignorant of geometry enter here'. She would get admitted easily, for she knows the patterns.  And her presence is matchless beauty  and inclined accuracy.  Dear brother,  Why are you bad with reasoning ? Branches unfolding- word-mongers hovering around.  Shaft of irony and beauty. Her notions of probable causes.  Infinite structures. Objectification of her labyrinth. Dear brother,  Your poems are dead.  Where's the ceaseless flow? The seeds must have known, Nietzsche's 'theory of

I am not sure,  if the man mows the grass, or he mows himself.  For the heart knows no reasons. It itself is an- extraordinary undertaking.  Followed by the highly  and lowly instances of oppositions and truths. And while mowing the grass, the man stumbles upon 'love'.  Love is the only food,  made without any recipes, he says.  The mind echoes- 'Love is the abyss without any end' 'Love is the abyss without any end'. Love is simply an error of disguise,  you are everything and nothing, the grass says.  The mind echoes- 'Who is to love if lover, is the absolution of love itself'.  Yet again, this is a genuine tragedy. She was never to be. While she was a person,  she was just one. While afar- she becomes the universe.  The seen and unseen,  The felt and un-felt.  No more pretensions left.  Just the mower and the mowed. The heart echoes- 'This is a genuine bliss'  '

A definition out of the book.  Or the absolute fact in itself.  Each tree, a lifetime lived.  Love is the power,  beyond tyranny of attitudes.  Hearts dedicated to- purposes and convictions.  Yet, unconditional.  Someone once told me,  Love is endurance. Something deep. Something lasting.  Someone reminded me, 'equations are predestined'.  15000 battles and wars fought,  in just 3000 years of history.  That's humanity.  That's us. You and I.  Yet, we call ourselves,  'the defenders of peace' 'the advocates of love'. That's the Irony.  A human has limited experiences, for that alone-  you don't need to be economical.  Expand and explore.  Experiment.  Don't be guilty about what was.  Live today, live free.  If not you will- seldom be misjudged and misguided. 

So slowly when the pain creeps into you bones. Chilling the entirety of your soul.  You start hallucinating.  No more light.  No more sound.  Your heart starts beating faster.  Each step reminds lifelong disasters.  You fall down harder.  Harder than ever before.  You have known migraine pain.  But this is stronger.  Even sharper.  Its cuts through your soul.  Makes you formless. Lifeless.  And you realize that,  promises are always better in words.  And when in the morning,  You find few minutes of sleep.  You need to wake up.  Wake up now.  This is the migraine call.