So who wins?

The one who is angry, despair of life, she writes,

‘Life is a mistake, it is filled with mistakes and errors, you are haunted by your past mistakes, leads you to make a bunch of new mistakes! It is horrible! All I do is wrong, I take wrong decisions, chase wrong paths, and say wrong words! I am done. I hate everything. Please cut me a slack!’

Heat cools down, attention passes on to other things, for a while, she thinks again, she sees again, she starts writing again,

‘It is like writing, you make mistakes, you write again, you learn from past mistakes, you do not repeat it in the new, because you know now, but there comes another mistake, you learn another one. It’s a process, it’s a flux, and hence it’s not a straight line. You make mistake, you learn, you may repeat it again, because it’s a long run. Who keeps the score? If anyone, it’s you. What is your existence beyond life? If you are discussed, when you are gone, if you are remembered, when you are dead, it is by life, by another lived ones. A world devoid of life, might remember you with your elements and matters: carbons and oxygens, to its atomic level, but that’s not you, that’s all, all lives possess some or the same elements, every other life possesses those atoms as in you. Life celebrates life, life of the lived, life of the dead. You do not exist beyond life. Life does not exist beyond life.’

So really, who wins?

---

Header-image source: IMDB, Room, 2015 movie

---

©Moulina Bhattacharya

The curtain parts asunder

And the curtain parts asunder! You wise sinner! You believe in larger reality! Learn but don’t drift away. Discern but don’t be consumed. Embrace the beyond but not the oblivion…

Chaos Patterned…

Eternal repose of shrouded corpse
Never encumbers,
Once the string’s cut by Atropose…
Each of the countless peregrines
Travels through traverses
Since the journey begins.
Like in every level
It revamps or repels,
The journey has no end.
The apparent end
Makes it blend
Where it all started.
And..
Starts again…
From dust to dust of the urn
Even chaos follows it’s given paten!

The pattern,
That’s beyond apprehension,
It moves forward,
Seen through retrospection.
It’s woven,
Preempted or improvised
Supersedes knowledge
Emptied or sufficed.
Vastly misconstrued!
Lost or regained
It aims to forge into
Quite different
From where it all started!
Chaos to cosmos you turn
It’s there in the Creation!

A Tale of Two Years

It was the time of pestilence, it was the time of vaccination, it was an era of digital awareness, it was an era of practical negligence, it was the age of scientific advancement, it was the age of global retrogression, it was a test of patience, there were unrest and impatience. It was the season of cooperation, it was the season of distancing, it was a phase of exposition, it was a phase of masking. It was the period of lockdown, it was the period of migration. It was a moment of mobility, it was a moment of immobility. It was a state of self-quarantine, arousal of sub-sunken realizations. It was a matter of time, persistence and observations amid the farrago of pandemic. It was a tale of two years, only they were not just tales.

The Event Horizon

Society expects conformity. And too much conformity engulfs one’s individuality. Being too good or too bad gives you identity or else you are ‘lost in space’, I mean into the abys of existence, perhaps.

‘You showed individuality’ said she to Princess Margaret, ‘and that made people panic. They don’t want individuality. The last person who showed “character” took almost the ship down.’(The Crown)

Hence it appears that conformity and individualism do not go hand in hand, but can’t they be allied? Where individuality and identity share their light, conformity is a gigantic shadow. Their coexistence could be a haze, a chaos but that’s what runs in the universe. Each planet, per se, is followed by its given trajectory, implies its conformity to its governing star having perfectly balanced individuality or rather say identity. So do the other unnumbered celestial entities, one goes supernova and slurped by a black hole. There comes the subtlest dots of existence, the humanity has its questionable outlook for the preservation of traditions, meaningless deference, rigid practices and crores of self-made labels to follow and unfollow.
The matter of fact is that the extremities collide where cohabitation sustains harmony.  But is it that easy? You may say collision is the one that creates, equilibria stands still. That’s why it’s a mosaic, an admixture of each a thing altogether.

Matrix or what should it be called?

Piercing through the inanimate

Original could be faked,
Uniqueness can not.
Real becomes unreal,
Fact does not.
Lies parade the hall of fame,
Truth takes her walk of shame.
Power hoists
Its rigorous chest.
Time turns malleable,
Conscience behests.
Inanimate witnesses
Numb and still
Woes its deprivation
When life springs
Those who can speak,
The living beings.
Be it fear or greed,
Cloisters this breed.
They tether their tongue.
Reasons meander,
Let silence be sung.

Quid quaeris? What do you seek?

Human mind is inquisitive. But who said that minds of other species are not? Do organisms have mind(s)? Is it feminine to express emotion? Is tolerance masculine then? Why then masculinity has to make treatise with dominance? Why femininity is odd when it admixes masculinity or the vise versa?
Zillions of such elementary questions had been broiled in old skulls or have been broiling up in that of newbies. Not picking that hive ad nauseam. But isn’t the basic problem sprung in the process of generalization(or overgeneralization, so to speak)? Why something has to be only that thing? Why something can not be anything? Who demarcates all these? (Oh! That question is also one of those primevals! Many a time knocked.)
Is every human mind inquisitive? Has anyone penetrated the mind of an other? Who shows to be inquisitive is s/he indeed inquisitive? Gender roles are already under scanner, it has been perpetually.
Why denigrate? Is the human race a hive of nimrods? No, of course not, if they were, why would they rerun the big bang? Why would they deplete the primordial resources and brood over its replenishment? Why would they skulk behind war machines, hoard them and sing slogans of global peace?
It is individual. Hold back the clusters and classifications. Ideologies, ethnicities, religions, genders, races et al are there but above all it is a single reaction that incites a chain of it. One entity holds caskets of ideals and perceptions. Like a genome it technically has no match of a cent percent with another. Each of us is unique, individual. Classifications are manipulated manifestations. Chaos and imperfections form the core of creation even which holds its (manipulative) name called, cosmos. Nomenclature leaves loose ends to its conception(s).

All are foolish questions before the concrete. ‘quem quaerere?‘ Or whom do you seek(to give answers)?
No, this is not a complaint.

ex nihilo…

la porte du mystère

The perception of reality appears to be concrete. But the actual reality is in ‘disappearence’. It is like the residual self image at its vanishing point, one can see but can hardly etch its real form. Eyes can barely catch the process but see the outcome. It is a causal nexus, or an enigma. Reality separates dream from itself but the irony is that both of them are amorphus. Reality hovers, but one can feel its presence in every breath. It reinforces or it purges. Before the ultimate exaltation it may rip apart into lees of sheer possibilities. Dream, on the other hand is a simulation of reality. It surrenders only one time when it renders and it never happens because it never happened. The seer is perplexed enough with her/his exit from the simulated reality and entrance to the enigmatic reality. The truth grins wide…

The Nothing

“We have to learn to dance with the nothing; this is the great game and the grand style; ‘the Nothing is essential to life as are air and wind to the flight of the dove,’…
Nihilism? No, nihilism is precisely forgetting of the nothing. It is the system that is nihilistic through its power to consign everything to indifference.” (François L’Yvonnet & Jean Baudrillard)