What could the Day offer…

Nothing that the day could offer, but life has to wait outside the door like a weary visitor. Each day forms the accordion and blow out the worthy sentiments with force. Discordant notes fill the air with a vengeance, but one cannot complain; while expected to sing along, reiterate, and glorify them, the rhythm is set at a different level.

Pure perfumes are drowned in the adulterated baser type of artificial fragrance. It is concocted with perverseness. The frail aroma of life fills the abode and there is a feeling of ineptitude and unworthy expectations. Probably, the concoctions stimulate such negative desirability and hold on to the mind with glumness. Sooner, the heart is afflicted too, and the diversions through myriad illusions push the journey through numerous intersections and detours. The idea is to remain busy and squelch the inherent desires of life.

Sitting in a nondescript corner and thinking is a kind of sin. You may be affected by the powerful influence to think of a powerful idea to build a formidable door against the moronic ideas that not only distract but also weaken the ability of the mind. Thinking is a sinful act, but obeying without thinking is kind of noble! When filthy ideas collide with that formidable door, they become enraged as they are not used to resistance and contrarian onslaught. They are wary of silence and think it to be suspicious; a conspiracy to dismantle their hegemony.

Why is life driven through the ulterior chambers filled with disappointments and jealousy? It could be the ultimate test! One has to be indifferent, as well as, aware of the life-transforming distractions. Life transforms, much to the dislike of the once hopeful heart. Thus, begins the lifelong incoherence that takes like down a furrowed vortex. The rugged ride jolts the beautiful desires and extracts their nature in the most unworthy manner.

The valueless day filled with expletives due to the distorted languages cannot be undone. They cling to it like the stubborn stains of burnt oil. The brief illumination from rancid oil lures the worst kind of darkness and fills the void with desperation and desires of inept type. Viscous stories sully the walls already filled with bizarre graffiti. It is the most vulgar art on display, and the narrative is read out loud to torment the ears. The jarring senses dues with the unworthy day, and thus, continues the struggle to extricate the self and meaning of life from a dispiriting day.

~Amitav