Stubborn sun keeps shining on. Dogged river keeps flowing. The land is a swathe of neglected pain. Earth is an eyesore. Yet the men labor. Poor fucking men. Pitiable. Resigned. Fated. Ignorant. Exhaustingly hopeful. Damned and doomed.
Where’s their nuclear mushroom?
There’s nothing uplifting here. Bitter’s all you’re gonna read. No mystical mist. No white clouds painting bluer skies. No heroic shooting stars; that suicidal celestial murder. No rich bravura. Poverty wins. No waxing poetic. Its raw pluckings. No fulfilling moon. Its waning time. No meaningful end. Just hopeless beginnings. Nothing insightful. All blunt. Wasteful. No human bravado. Just cowardice reportage.
This is the end. Does not matter when it all began. Everyone’s forgotten.
The doors of perception are blinded and padlocked. The philosophers are long gone. Dead wrong. Rotting with their philosophies. Where’s my climate change of ecological catastrophe? Give me my disaster. As promised. A day to rue, if you allow it to. And we all do. Freewill is a two-lane road heading in the same direction- downhill. Below. Where anonymity waits. Arms open. Jaws ready for the bite and the clench. Where’s salvation? Nowhere Dumbo. Nowhere.
Angered. Anger rises and leaves. Throwing tantrums. Puckish. At all the things that make it angry. And at all the things that do not. Angered. It leaves. Angry. Quite impishly. A day to rue, if you allow it to. Another straw man. A veneer of choice less choice. Where’s our World War Three?
A cup of coffee from Kerala calms me down a notch. Coffee gets me down. And out. Doesn’t hype me up. But maybe I’m cursed with no-nuance. Anger blinds. It was so good I had to wash it down with a glass of water. And now I’m chasing it all with a glass of special tea, cardamom drenched. Where’s my contentment? What’s this endless hunger? Take back your voracious appetite. I don’ need it. You eat it. Including the sugar. It’s yours.
A tad relaxed, I rewind the late afternoon, going back to what got my goat. What’s this regurgitation? Where’s my detachment? Where’s my contentment? The past burns the present with its flames. Ash litters the future. Ashen, you’re going down. Alone. Frightened. Where’s your lord?
Cold rice, or the lack of warmth, in a café I almost always eat at every day, got my bone. He said it was my fault, and the fault of the breeze. Ha-ha. The lazy conniving bastard. I pay. He refuses, more out of dismissive pride. No real humility. I say fuck it. I’m not playing a saint. Fuck it. And move on. Where’s my tolerance? Where’s your humility? Your humanity? Your grace?
Illusions come alive. Forming shapes. Assuming solid apparitions. Threatening. Aggressive. And you fight back. Delusion against illusion. Phantom against apparition. Hostility against aggression. Pacifism’s momentarily dead. Gone. Reborn as this antagonist. Playing the lead in a play called Fatality. Doomed. Lost. Where’s your freewill? I see the bill but where’s your basic decency? I know. Nowhere.
Just like mine. Nowhere at all.
Bereft of compassion. Devoid of empathy. Pissed at everything altruistic. Dismissing magicians. Bullying retards. Cheating simpletons. Laughing at tragedies. Seriously sodomizing comedians. Where’s your joy? Your interdependent appreciation? Nowhere. That’s where. Bring on the wolves. Throw in the lambs. Watch. Be entertained. It matters not a single cell.
Killing sanctity. Murdering intuition. Forgetting the humanities. Drowning buoyancy. Picking on lost travelers. Harassing hearts. Rejecting nostalgia. Sedating yearning. Cutting melancholia. No negotiation. No mercy. Nothing to compromise. Where’s your middle path? Your virtue? Nowhere. That’s where.
Hell’s already won over. And Heaven’s a painful allegory. A practical joke. A life to rue, if you allow it to, and you’ve no choice but to let it be so. And I’ve allowed it to. I hate. I’m a hater. What a brag. What nerve. What self-aggrandizement. Where’s your no-ego? Where’s my no-self? What’s this selfless hullaballoo?
The last refuge beckons and I’m in. Snug in my bloody armor. Shielded by shit. Enemies siege my isle of rotten plenty. My carcass rots. Stinks. The vultures are here. Greedy beaks breaking bones. They wanna suck in the marrow. Not without a fight. A battle. A war. Here comes the scavengers. Where’s your nonviolence? Where’s your refrain? Where’s your other cheek?
Death and decay pay. All things good are far away. So far away there’s not even a speck. Forget sparkles, there’s not even a mote. Barren. Deserted. The land smacks of corpses. Its apocalypse now.
The horror. The horror. Where’s your rich-nothingness? Where’s your sense of precious human embodiment?
Love left the realm a long time ago. So far back it’s ice-cold. Frozen. At best a neglected archive. Who reads dead scrolls? But it’s there, in some dusty old shelf. Decomposing whatever’s composed. Refused. Where’s your diligence? Where’s your avowed commitment?
Fuck it. Altruism’s retired. It’s living a cynical old pension. Renunciation’s a greedy little tot.
I’m chucking away this last of the tethers. Fuck it. Chuck it. Along with it I’m throwing away the last of the fetters. And the crutch. The staff. The support system can go find themselves new victims. I’m done. No more. No less. Sorry buddy. This is it. And I’m not even bothering to ask- What is it? It does not matter. And matter can go fuck with mass, time and space. I don’t care. Let it all bare.
I’m done. Dusted. Drowned. Plunged. Landed. Branded. Stranded. Hounded. Grounded. No questionnaire. No answers. No resolutions. No riddles. No rhymes.
It’s a barking dog. A wailing baby. A bleating goat. A hissing snake. It’s animalistic. No metaphysics. No imagery. Just a grumpy old man feebly holding on to leaking life; coughing out the bile.
Spit by spat. Hack by hack. Cut and dry. And that is it.