An Elegy on a Night Party- 1

An Elegy on a Night Party-1

The paradigmatic shift in the conceptual map of my liberal and revolutionary platforms of radicalism, existentialism and humanism make things aesthetically absurd and practically effective. Living in the present and progressive tenses of time and space I tend to contradict my ‘Other’ (purely theoretical), who was conceived as a result of Theory and Philosophical classes.   

        

            Receding past bequeaths an un-ravished beauty of poetry within my foster memories of great poets and their offspring - poems. I’m going through a ‘deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!’

 

I feel Coleridge, the great poet whom I resemble with the mystic feelings and visions of mystic abyss. I am living the life at its zenith of vivacity and I celebration of soul. I do it at-

A savage place! As holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And’mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

(‘Kubla Khan’)

The purgatory pain I’ve conceived as a result of my infinite fight against the stagnant system of society (superannuated existence of incongruous traditions and practices; inception of anarchist Methodism and premature abortion of zeitgeist) lead me unto the solitary islands of floating operas in the endless existential conflict of restless humanity.

Monstrous shapes of pyramids and modern structural marvels amaze me for no reason, but for the nothingness of mine compared to their monstrousness. I like to be under the mega structures because I feel the laxity of the pace of the time beneath these structures. They say time never runs around the pyramids of Gaza. They are right because I do feel it when I face the almightiness of great mountains and the vastness of might waters (they are also part of this mighty constellation).

Eyes closed, mind emptied; soul heightened, body relaxed; they sing the hymns in the chapel, where I find not many, but a few. They sit on the pews (as if they missed something from the usual course of time and the aisles of events. It seemed that somewhere they resembled me in many ways of reflecting life. 

            The archetypal configuration of my thoughts in to a pragmatic style often brings a constellation of inexplicable ‘events’. Polychromatic-life on the floors of bars and streets with the luminescence of neon lights, incinerating and watching the secrets of night, I walked on the long stretched-out concrete pavement stretching unto the pointless edge of the haste-contest of the humanity. I found no one, but lost souls singing and lusting the unconscious miseries and mysteries of burdened life. They lament on the ‘hamertia’(Tragic flaw) and ‘peripetia’(A sudden change of events or reversal of circumstances, especially in a literary work) of their real-life drama in which they even don’t realize their roles and where life becomes nothing but a written play, they play and play. I hear nothing but sounds.