Turtles of the Moon

I ought to have maintained my anonymity until the denouement, for it is there that our prospects would have thrived most auspiciously upon the uncharted horizon of the unknown.

The mere possibility of your transformation into the conjured metabolism of pataphysical existence weighed heavily upon my heart and mind as never before. I unwittingly ensnared myself in the role of a semi-demi doppelganger of Ulysses, thus sowing the seeds of my life's sabotage.

I would occasionally catch fleeting glimpses of grace in the glimmer of a wondrous, age-old ruin of impeccable provenance. Through the enchantment of that ancient relic, I sustained the illusion of your presence with a kind of marvelous grace.

Yet, as I struggled to regain my aesthetic maneuverability, I found myself compelled to make a sacrificial offering of your memory upon the altar of the immutable cosmological constants.

I carry you with me to my tomb, and perhaps even beyond, for you persist within me, omnipresent in every fractional unit of time. I remain ensnared in the inexorable gravity of your memory, as time itself begins to erode and lose its recollection of its own course.

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Hindolam: M₁

At every corner, she glimpsed him. Through the mist, she saw his figure, looking at her, the love in his eyes never fading. She tightened her grip on 'his' hand, her love, and glanced back. Sometimes she wonders, was it true? What he believed in. Whether she was his princess. But, she lost that moment. And she lived in her present, and the past, a mirage. Nothing could change her love for 'him'. She looked into 'his' eyes and all her inhibitions disappeared. She didn't hear the soft crunch of leaves behind her. She was too occupied with her love, her beliefs, with 'him'. She didn't see him steal glances at her. And sometimes, he lost her again, in the mist, in the blur, in the obscurity. But he always found her, for his love for her burned in his heart, a bright flame. She gave him the key to his freedom, but he flung it away. He chose his way of life, he wanted to chase her forever. He would never give up. His incessant pursuit fascinated her, ...

In the Fabric of Evolution

Nothing was left untouched. Every stone was overturned, every grain of sand displaced. The monstrous beauty of the Earth transforming into a perfect haven for living organisms was a grand saga of evolution—an orchestration by the Unknown. As a child then, and an adult now, my timeless reverie has been to envision this orchestration—to witness how the Earth journeyed from the most hostile to the most hospitable. I have, time and again, tried to comprehend evolution and the mysterious forces that harmonized to weave the very fabric of life. As I grew, I found myself entangled in the same fabric of evolution—fulfilling its purpose. I began to see how I, too, evolved through the people who crossed my path, the events that unfolded, and the moments that shaped me. Everything seemed to work in silent precision, scripting the being I was meant to become. Should I resist it—or embrace it? I find resistance meaningless, for everything appears perfectly programmed by time and space. Can I truly ...

Hindolam: Ṡ

WE danced till the world slipped into an oblivion of our presence. WE drank wine till the sun turned black. WE forgot who we were and transformed into the purest form of creation. I knew, then, I died and reincarnated into all of your desires, happiness, sorrows, fears, ecstasy, and forms of beings. “Where will you find me after?” your lips quivered. “You are everywhere” I said.

The Ballads of Gravity

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