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Sound of Voices VI

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I need to break the bubbles where I’m fragmented in to thoughts and memories of her. I’m suffocating, unable to breath I’m dying in her thoughts. I’ve compromised my life, thoughts, words and what else to say, the time became constant and I myself became a non being. Am I losing myself? I’ve almost became a carrier of her memories. What are her memories? The world might have never heard of such a love story! They were memories of a soul I chased anonymously. The dominant and gargantuan presence of silence conceived the memories of a soul. Somewhere in the vast and timeless universe, my soul met her and ever since then she was mine. Memories contradicted each other for the given definitions of their existence in the normalized paradigm. How can one indulge in the memory that has no physical entity? Memory always associates us with the people, things, time, past, with which and whom we have had enough time to spend. However, how can you have a memory of a person you have no idea about? That’s not possible, but it occurred to me. I don’t know how! I have no answer. And I let it be so, what else I can do other than experiencing those memories. Thus, I vanish into the thick mist of the crowd.

The incredible crowd always attracted me, there was something within it. It’s good to see people if you are one among them. The difference is not synthetic, but inborn. It is great to be one among the crowd, unknown and anonymous. How the crowd defines me? Within the flow of its currents and mind, I move like a feather. People move, like a crowd, they are distinct and unique, but they have a common end. Eccentricity defines them. Removed from them I elevate me towards the heights of eccentric ecstasy! Burning cigar on the lips vomits the memories; the apparitions of them disappear into the vacuum of air. An unknown thread of common end unites crowd, they appear from nowhere and melts down into one. I fall in love with her more than ever when I’m in the crowd. The company of the crowd drags her into mine. Undying memories webbed a tremendous universe around me. The richness and hollowness of their talk as they move throw up an air of mundane gullibility.

A cigar is singing its funeral song on my lips. The desires of mine are burning the cigar. The remnants of dirty jokes and spurring resonances wait for their burial. The liquid oblivion in the chalice of fire burns my soul. 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. A 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. And I contradict myself because I contain multitude.

The bottled poetry,
Consume me and elevate me to a non-being
Where i shall blow with wind and lush with the waters.
And there i shall become everything,
The whole universe.
Let the bleeding heart never be healed,
Let it be so!
For, “it delights me.”
PS: WINE IS A BOTTLED POETRY AND I AM A POET ARBITRARILY.

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