Poetry within the dead

I woke up with pain again. Even though hard to handle, I am finally out of the haze. I have been sinking in a vast ocean of numbness, dull and lonely for too long. Persuaded somehow that things would never change, I soaked. It is true that we, human beings, are small and weak when a non-material dimension such as time plays with our psyche as it pleases.

As days were passing by, I grew up skeptical. I was torn between the neediness of a stable life and the eagerness for a diversion, perhaps an after-life. I wanted to experience all of it. Now I am not sure any more. Though the need is still adamantine for there are some emotions that can never be unleashed.

Hence I worshiped eternity. I wanted to hoover between my lifetime and his. Hither and thither, in two different yet paralleled worlds, between existent and non-existent creatures filled with mercy and hatred. I wanted to see the unseen, value and despise, praise and loathe. I needed to metamorphose the ancient pastoral world into the haunting modern fiction. This duplicity anguished my soul and made me feel utterly helpless. This is when melancholy falls.

I was ludicrous to ignore the ephemeral. Everything comes to an end. Yet, there is only a flicker that separates the two worlds I desire: Death. The rest shall remain insignificant.

In order to break the spell between the two spheres I needed to die. Death is meant to be the ending of things, a gesture towards something else. To me, it was merely a movement. I succumbed then I found myself going from earth to earth, ashes to ashes and from dust to dust.

In literature, death is described as a serene transformation, a glory over a long torment. Writers made us envision within the years that anguished souls may find peace after life and that better things are ahead than any we have left behind. That moment you shall beam in the celestial light, floating in an unfinished space called paradise. Death, according to them, is an asylum and a shelter for spirit-drained. Ourselves alone or perhaps surrounded by angels, beneath the earth or over it, roaming somewhere beautiful beyond any possible place you have ever seen before.

However death is not like that. It’s not a place where you find meadows and streams. It’s not a celestial light or a place to beam. It’s not a night or a day. It’s not somewhere you haven’t seen before. It’s darkness. If you were born in sheer and shred in agony like myself then you have already experienced it. I have been dead twice and still dead to be.

Anemic, overcome by lassitude, in languid ease, I looked pale as ivory and weak as an ant. I have been rejected and abominated from both worlds. I would put an endless ribbon of words to describe my state of mind but poisonous things such as melancholia seem rather beautiful in description though hurtful when experienced.

Loneliness increased underneath. Yet, I felt the presence of tremors hidden like the vibration of a note of music. All alone, calm as a child in dreamless slumber, I was entombed in the middle of nothingness. A dark spirit I have become, doomed to endure with the mighty dead. Expired I wished to be, so were the sounds and the lights and soon my heart is to be.

For sure, it was not a triumph over mortality. However, into the hidden depth, I was yearning a resurrection. Jealousy grew within me, a weird loving-kindness for people above me. They who are living happily where they are meant to be. My incapacity of patience had power over me. Dreary hours have I passed and more to be. Confused in the quiet, bewildered and heaviness all around me, I focused with the future and cherished its secrecy. The illusion was sweet but it created oddly bitterness in me.

I missed the brightness, the air, the stream of waters and the warmth. Down there, it was all cold, dark and wet like the jungle. From the shadows, I wanted to fade away. The pressure enhanced perpetually and became a part of me. I could not breathe anymore. I shouted loudly and wanted to overpass the coffin and my own sorrow was pulling me down.

 

The past and its souvenirs seemed beautiful. One never realizes the value of the things he has until it is lost. Within time, I learnt how to appreciate even the worst memories. Thus, the emotions of the present are merely illusions.

And I have imagined my old familiar friend coming and lying down next to me, trying to comfort me and appease my agony. My strong desire for him led me to spleen and huge suffer. He, for whom I wanted to fuse the worlds to reach, convinced me that happiness is in the denial of the desire to live.

Was I too selfish for wanting something that is gone? Was it worth the try? One never knows. I have come to realize that every change is tingled with melancholy. Every regret or memory that flashes before your eyes like a whiff of air must be related to sadness or a lack of satisfaction.

In the meantime, my only occupation to kill time was the Thinking. The black reigning around me inspired only mournful thoughts at first. I envisioned a mixture of the two worlds I knew. Delusional as I happen to be, I sank more into a vacuum of sadness. I was seeking into the maelstrom of the blackest tempest for a drop of joy that would make me forget my grief, so I thought of poetry.  

In poems: Words sing, rivers stream, meadows sway, flowers open and the heart beats. Poetry makes you dwell freely and without limits in a pedestal of emotions. You have the choice by then whether to touch beauty or anguish your soul. The verses are full of tender melodies, unheard but beating in my ear. Rhythmical under my own creation, I made the nature speak.

Music play on, notes I intended to compose. Loudly please, break off the silence. Be the rehab of my broken soul. My passion and abstraction let me linger in your sound and bring me close to the people I love. I have been brutalized by death; the worst over all, now the bad is way behind me.

Serenity reigned, enfolded my tight heart with a tiny stream of joy, and had mercy over me for the pain I have endured. This happened only when I started to think of the infinity.  I tried to loiter in it as the writers of the golden age did. They found their pleasure within its intensity. However to reach infinity you must be a dreamy. Your thoughts have to be limitless and your unconsciousness must speak. Mine praised the fathomless universe and thought about beauty and love. These two primordial recipients, in addition to poetry and music are the secret of my joy. Therefore, I was singing rhymed words all about the beauty of the nature I have imagined in my extreme vision of the infinity and the love I was still keeping warm in me. I smelt the earth, I heard voices, I saw balance.

My soul was capable of generating continuous floods of joy. I saw the seasons changing, a sort of weird beauty descending upon me. I saw a spectrum of lights, blue was my cure and source of tranquility. I enjoyed the lonesome of my pensive thought. I have never really appreciated loneliness until I found myself in this peculiar place. Deep in thought: I was here, there and everywhere. Vast spaces with beautiful faces, pouring laughter and hidden surprises. Sorrow seemed nowhere to be, like an illusion or a torturing hallucination existing only for those who are seeking it.

All the images I have seen in my mind were evolving around seas. The place where I met the man of my dream. He, who awakened my heart once and ordered it to sleep. His world is a part of me now and I am able to meet him whenever I please. Is there better happiness than love? Its grandeur filled my empty soul and created duplicity within me. Now my vision involves two people not only the selfish beast in me. The sharing of this infinity creates a harmony, something incredibly more beautiful than the things I have seen. However, one is always incomplete unless true love happens to gather the two pieces.

I love thee and this is the source of my happiness. Was my sacrifice enough proof for thee? Is there a force bigger than the ending of my life to start a tormenting and undefined journey? My felicity’s weapons were all a mere creation in my dead mind while the reality is as cruel and murdering as the devil himself.

In this peaceful thought of you, I shall keep my calm and my serene state stable. Together with the beauty of my melancholy, that brings a huge wave of inspiration to me, I shall keep loitering in the infinity with him.