Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

What else will you do, when you really can’t do anything?

Monotonous days, loneliness is your companion and you watch sun rise and sunset from the only window in your room. No, I am not prisoner of any jail which is abide by law. However, I am the prisoner of myself, who has no desire left to walk out, who has no love to fulfill, who has no purpose to live for. Had I loved someone or something I would have thought about going for it, but now, where should I leave for, the whole world appears a granule to me. It is empty. It is hollow. It holds no value for me. Sometimes being human is a punishment in itself for the crime you must have committed mistakenly.

I know it must not be making any sense for who is reading it. However, there is a sense in it, a sense that only I can make out of it. I don’t wish for love, I don’t Crave for relationship, I don’t starve for aspiration. The only ambition which lies in me is to visit the end. There lies an urge in me that craves for an end, it needs to know the meaning of same end or is there any end which really exists or this whole concept of life is a lie, a hoax and I am made fool by this very fact.

I don’t raise both hands in the sky and ask for blessing, I don’t stretch hand for companionship, I don’t see you because my vision is stuck in the horizon seeking a way out. I attempt things that are taboo not because they are taboo but to ascertain why are they considered so. Perhaps one day they will show me a way out. Instead of spreading fingers to feel you, I curl them in to save you from the disease of heart since my pain is my pleasure.

My prose and poems are lowest of the categories of art but they are destined to be written and only read by me.

It’s the fourth time I have heated water to clean myself from what I have been living with since ages but it dejects me as I attempt to touch it with curled fingers. It’s still as cold as I brought it from an unknown stream. They call it Holy River but I see it nowhere more than a stream of muddy water. The fire from the last night bonfire has turned into grey ash and I see someone standing there above me in white rob with a cross saying ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’ as though in that ash they have buried a soul that was seeking to escape and loose itself into the airless space where only twinkling light shows the way like lighthouses in the middle of oceans.

I smudge face with that ash and walk like a ghost in the forlorn streets where I scare only myself with that new face. There, all hopeless beings laugh aloud at my cover up and spit at me for only one reason - to see me naked and crawl like wounded snake. Since they are thirsty they are cursing me for my dry eyes, wanting to quench that thirst with my tears. But behold I shall declare that tears have left me a long ago, you are living dead and you hold no right to drink the tears of a man who had died with wide open heart and open eyes.