They sing the funeral song on the death of their Day, “Day is
dead, let's celebrate the birth of the Night from vivacity to ecstasy and
finally a fall from the seventh heaven unto the abyss of dreams and lust.”
Having nothing to do in the nights of my ‘usual routine’, I had my same chair
on the same corner, a platform above the dance floor of the Seventh Heaven party club at the Down
Town.
Everything in
me tends to go on to become something else. The pervasive aesthetics of life and
the disposals of proposals from the mighty eyes of Almighty, I placed myself on
the corner for no reason. My soul is impatient with itself, as with a
bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. She
holds spring against her breast and stares at me with sad eyes as if I’m a son
of all other seasons other than spring. I don’t know who the she in my life is,
but I keep watching and following her, the unknown.
I saw her
coming with her boyfriend (maybe). The cultural abrogation of modern life
style, misinterpreted with the western culture, often contradict the existence
of philosophies of daily life. She is here to party. She ordered two glasses of
martini and for a sudden warm up she took his hands and dropped them in between
her thighs. They are partying all around me. They are merging into one entity
of non-existence, where I witness and stand as a comfortably numb Guest of
their love. They are not lovers; she titillates other ‘guest boyfriends’ of the
party hall too. They are reaching to the zenith of romance and I saw her ravishing
eyes peeping at me, the man who’s witnessing her ‘play’.
I smiled. She
doesn’t love him and he is a guest for her tonight, to please her night and to
escape from the fear of loneliness, she hired him. She is a beautiful girl,
without name, but with some name. She carries the names of her roles and pains
of pleasures; she walks unto the door of her grave. She never wants to die, but
she aestheticizes the romance of death.
We vanished in
to the thick light of the night, where I took her to the aesthetics of lust and
pain. I never thought she would leave that ‘hired boyfriend’ before she gets
pleasured. She told me the story of her lives. She doesn’t have a life, but
lives. He might be searching for her in the crowd of ‘hired-friends for night’,
a night where he would go with everyone in search of his lady love who left him
on the half way to the zenith of pleasure. Why’s she with me now? I never asked
her to join me or leave him. Sometimes she likes someone who is different from
her. Walking through the light of neon bulbs and entertaining the olfactory
perception of lascivious traces of bodies, which are wreathed with the scents
of night, I opened the door of my modern hut for my lonely night guest. We are
hired by the principles of carnality and of the aesthetics of night romances.
She is a guest for me, only a guest who left some man for me for an unknown
reason of her own, which she keeps as a secret of her lives and nights of neon
lights.
The lonely
guest of the neon lights and of the celebrant of the olfactory property of
desires of the flesh is gone now unknown. Rhythm of her footsteps parted my
ears with pleasure and gratitude, but not in a hope of meeting sometime again
in the midst of plenty, but lonely states of night lives in the party clubs or
night bars of the Down Town. She disappeared in to the thick sounds of dates,
plans and tomorrows. She never unfolded the name of her day lives, she said
some name which I knew false during our journey towards the paramount of desire
and pleasure. She kissed me with her crimson thread lips of desires and left
without a word.
The handicapped
cigars of last night’s fire and burning on the lips of desires; the left-overs
of dirty jokes and stimulus sounds; lie on the floor of mind for their burial.
There lies the water of amnesia in the half used glasses of fires and spirits.
Shadow of mine draws a dirty picture of a sybaritic soul on the walls of a
modern hut under the light of 40 watts bulb. You, my dear musical machines
welcome sweetly the most beautiful sleep in to my life and Let me sleep now! Bohemian
rhapsody plays behind the tumultuous sensations of my unfinished night, the
serenity incinerates in to the core of my tumultuousness. The protest of my
life compromises the music of melodies and rhapsodies of Bohemian sagas. I feel
serene, for the sounds revolutions and cry for freedom merges in to the
revolution and commotion with in my soul.
Desires
have become like the filthy under wares. Though the excess of the music of
desire overflows the sea of anticipation, which I have been carrying since my
puberty, in my life, I’ll wait my dear. Sleepless nights of the city life rages
the genitals and beats the drum for the beds and bars of the brain where I bed
with my lust and drink the waters of desires, my conscious has failed to
dominate the inclination of inclinations and desires of flesh.
We
chain the two waters, in abyss of mind, raging each other to apologize and part
from the unknown shores of mind in the winter season; we die in the waters of
lifeless routine of greetings, apologies, meetings.
I
failed to wipe out the tears from your eye lids with my lips, even when I was
fighting with the self and perceptions of conceptual ideologies, dogmas, creed,
and self-designed philosophies of my life, I was selfish.
‘Useless’
semen ejaculated during the rages of youth and old age; the ‘sins’ (though I
don’t believe in sins) of desires and the fall from the paramount of Venus unto
the chasm of liberation and freedom of body from the varieties of bondages left
a stain on the soul for a remembrance of eternal love and desire for life. We
want to live and taste the nectar of life, desire, pleasure, lust and love. We
are humans, slaves of desires and Gods.
The lust of the
sea buried your name I have carved on the shore. And what else I have for you
to remember other than the tears dropped down to wipe out the sins of the earth
and of the Desires of flesh. And obviously everyday things
happen in the world that can't be explained by any law of things we know.
That’s how things happen; they come from nowhere and leave no trace.
i havent ever read anything like this ever before in my life. its wonderful. a perfect fusion of love, romance, lust, loneliness, vivacity and possibly everything which i often fail to express. its magnificent. please keep writing.
ReplyDeletea fine emotion. perfect blending and expression. i love it.
ReplyDeletei love it. <3
ReplyDeleteoo jesus! its different , i think i love it!
ReplyDeleteJust wow. :O
ReplyDeletebeautifully expressive. :)
thank you! well, Elegy on a night party is my first fiction work with anonymous characters. i fought them well.
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