The Ballads of Gravity

Ruth was perplexed and had an inhibition to the unknown. She was worldly and a free blackbird! She was driven by the instinct which conflicted with the youth and age. The little time she spent on the book coloured the inferno. Even the prince the of Darkness forgot his call of duty and was poisoned with the immaculate reverence to Ruth. The book lives the lives of multitude, you can see the hell and heaven in the pages. You can witness the life in both place s. I cannot define or explain or even comprehend the idea of the Book I guard for ages! I see people coming from the Book and fading into the Book.  Among them Ruth was exceptional. The grace she had tugged everyone in the Book to the zenith of vivacity. I am still ignorant and unknown to my own story, but I am connected to the Book, the Book is my Other. May be it was my inability to tell the story to Ruth that left her vanished into the multitude.  I carry the scars and marks of my failures, and my blood becomes the in

It was left there. The book has a special power to read the mind of the reader and it writes the life of the reader into a new chapter. I was destined to guard the book from the time immemorial. Many came and went. Some just looked at it, some just opened it, some just went through the pages, some just tried to read it but they couldn’t continue and those who read never understood. those who opened never read it, and those who read it ne ver understood it. But the book wrote their lives into pages and pages. And then Ruth came. Ruth was able to understand the book, but she didn't read full. “curiosity killed the cat”’ she said. I thought she would steal the book! But, she just became one among the many. Remarkably, she was the most beautiful thing ever happened in the pages of the book. The book wrote the most beautiful and magnificent life during the time she spent on the book. She left it there. Then came the other girl, unknown. And I don't know whether she would open a

The book was left there. First, Ruth came. Ruth was able to understand the book, but she didn't read full. She left it there. Then came the other girl, unknown. And I don't know whether she would open and read it. The book is a myth, it demands character, and quality of the reader. Will she open and read it? Will she understand if she reads it?

A state of confusion often becomes an art of diffusion. I'm strange to this new realm of feeling which I may fail to entertain. But I have to win this game. And I've changed a lot wearing the masks of strange faces. I have to gain it, and I will. But it demands something which I cannot provide. The Book of Genesis echoes the sound of ghosts trapped in the words of the Book. I shall not become one among them. Rage, strengthen me; love, soften me like a feather. Rage, embrace me. Love, cuddle me. Let me sleep in the womb again.

It's  passing through me.  The phase of metamorphism is no way romantic than any other forms of existence I’ve imagined in my life. I have nothing to tell you, except the truth you know. No reason can comprehend the mathematical probability or the logical apprehension of your decisive absence.  you have become an autonomous machinery, a self-sufficient thinking pattern of existence.   I am your architect. Unfortunately, you have become an inevitability of mine. An alter ego- a best friend, a teacher, a father and a mother. You were indeed an absolute occurrence.  A contradiction. Certainly it is far more imaginative than a toddler; more curious than a virgin and more ironical than a war widow. This is what you have done to me- the chaos. And this is what I have done to you- the burden of gravity. You die when I drain the ink in my pot.

Dance, the celebration of soul. I move like wind and rage like nature. I dance till the earth trembles and the stars fall. I dance, I become everything. And I dance. You can't trace my path. I swift, I swirl, and I fly high and dive unto the deep chasm. Thus, I disappear. Stay tight, for you might fall for me.