The Sky within

The below statement is true.

The above statement is false.

(From a psychological questionairre)

Painting: Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night – Above the Rhone.

I walk upwards. The Sky walks with me. I see at a distance a tapering, spiral pathway leading me to the boundary. The bike that just crossed me seems to disappear before the vanishing point. This life turns blank the next second and I feel as if I exist amidst nothingness. Did I exist in fiction and fantasy – a wholesome marsh of self-conceived falsehood? The gleaming sun paints me black upon the road but soon my shadow gets erased as a waxing moon. My sensory organs cease to perceive anything in the sphere of contact. It is obvious that a painless pinch couldn’t rule this out so easily. I don’t wish to stop by and solve up the chaos but to walk through it firm and solid. Future is nothing and memory is melting. Stranded in loneliness and puzzled by improbability, I guess a maze around me laughs at my helplessness. There are no inventions and no fellowmen. I forgot my graduation and stop believing about salvation. Truth is void and fate is mystery. The idea is to walk past truth and guess my fate. Ideas are absurd when destiny is driving. I reach my horizon. The boundary is reached and the ultimatum is to break this silence. I start it with a bleak and roar my soul to breathe this suffocation. I transit from walking to running and ascend to jump into resurrection from this boundary to eternity. Anticipating a bull’s eye I infer that gravity seemed to have survived along with me. The idea is to destine my absurdity. Truth is mystery and fate is void. I just graduated first class and I am on my way to salvation. My inventions are visible all around and fellowmen are screaming to see me fall. Loneliness is improbable and puzzled why I feel stranded, I laugh at the maze I made for myself. Future unravels itself as memory freezes back. I don’t wish to walk through it firm and solid and wish to solve up the chaos. The pinch pains a little later. My sensory organs perceive every atom in the sphere of contact. As a waning moon, my shadow is painted back with a black sheen. Didn’t I exist in reality and accuracy-a wholesome marsh of pre – conceived axioms? This life turns brimming and I feel as if I exist amongst replete. The bike that is approaching me horns loud as it approaches the blind spot. I see at a distance a widening, spiral pathway leading me to the periphery. I fall downwards. The sky falls with me. But, the sky never really falls or walks. It stays calm as it does, within.

P.S: Many films served inspirations for this piece. It would be a sin if I failed to mention my gratitude to Nolan, Tarantino and Wachowskis.

Advertisements

About this entry