How do I know that I am alive; that this is what reality looks like and it is not an incoherent dream sequence dancing in front of my eyes? Are my senses giving me the right readings; or have they become so numb, so petrified by this nightmarish reality that actually exists, that they have chosen to paint an illusionary picture….
Inertia adds more somber colours, and I grope at nothingness that defines this reality in the hope to catch some pigments that constitute this illusion….
The unknown silently whispers in my ears, “It is time; it is time we meet”. I pay no heed to it, I believe in the illusion; it’s comforting; it allows status quo, a quasi static equilibrium, where everything happens so slowly for infinite amount of time that nobody notices any perceptible change. I gaze vacantly at the stars; their distance from where I stand is in measures of light years. And light years is what separates them from each other; each an island burning as brightly as it can. A day will come when each of them would swallow itself….. They call it the ‘supernova’; I call it suicide; suicide of the most macabre and galactic proportions… I detest the universe for what it is trying to show me…
The frost on the window trickles down, tracing a serpentine path; every turn uncertain, every bend unpredictable to the naked eye. But perhaps, at the minutest level of existence that defines matter, there must have been a perfect harmony, a symphony of sorts that caused that movement; a reason, perhaps pushing its way against all odds stacked. And then again, what is visible is randomness, not the reason and we always trust our senses and our instincts…..
I sit by the window,
I watch time fly…
I wake up,
I stop dreaming with open eyes...
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