The Story

Have we not all,
A story to tell?
Be it of angel’s ball,
Or of demons and hell.

Quite different this one is
With characters who lack verbs.
Of her and a few of his
Feelings short of words.

Of too many chances
And a few surprises.
Some unrealized fancies.
Some unclaimed prizes.

A few miracles and magic
And of just those few.
Of jokers so tragic,
The end, they already knew.

Of hopes too high,
And of fears higher.
Of burning ice in one eye,
Another with frozen fire.

Of worthless secrets,
Safe down the river bed,
Painted memories, regrets
In the colors they shed.

Of faces, so expressionless,
Could only look numb.
Of steps, so effortless,
Sounded dumb, dumb!

Of an empty space in between.
Of the pitter and the patter.
Everything that emerged within,
Of best things, just not better.

Of a few frenzied curses
Disappeared, as they fell
In a song of silent verses,
Unsung, for an undone spell.

Of fists opening limply,
Of fingers letting go
A story that lately
Its characters only know.

The cycles and circles, in spheres of chaos.

…Given a choice, every time, he would choose to choose, but would never make the final choice. This, you see, was inevitable. One of the million times he had to find out. The longer he paused, the heavier they got and eventually sunk in. What happens to the sunken choices! Well, they wait, and pop up again at the worst possible hour, when you’re in no state to decide the color of your hat (like you wear one!).

So, anyway! Now that all the cycles and circles, trapped in these spheres of chaos, are for once back at where they started, which as I said was inevitable, what does he do? Choose to choose again? Or just sit back this time? Wait… wait for the wind to change direction?

What would you do if you had this choice? What if every last piece of your experience and every last fraction of your conscience narrated the same story? What if every new beginning had taken you to one, same ending? And what if, today, on this particular day, you just stumbled on all of it altogether. Would it in anyway change your waking thoughts tomorrow? And what about those stifled whispers before you go to sleep, would they be any different tonight? Or would you be willing to choose, to try to break free, to try to find a corner in a circle?

Imagine this. You enter a diner every day. The owner gives a free fruit pie only if you pick the flavor one still left in bulk. But he gives you only one choice and you blow it every time. Or, he says, you can wait and have the piece that is still left over at the end of the day, which by the way will still be damn good! But you just can’t wait. Well, that’s just a billionth of the problems you actually face, right? How about an actual situation? Can you relate to one? I’m sure you can. Would you even consider the “offer” of starting again, when the highest odds are that you’ll be back… back here?

‘Coz in the end, it’s like this… what if all over that I burden you with a load of misguided conscience, with a firm but narrow sense of self-righteousness, with a deep but faint expression of emotional intellect? What if I make you the master of all trades and a jack of none? What if I tell you everything, and do not teach you to speak? What if I make you think that you think, but in fact never let you think?

Would you still make the apparently stupid choice of choosing? The answer supposedly is different for everyone, dependent on whether you derive your power from acceptance or from denial.