Skip to main content

Ripples of Life

Beneath the water's surface lies a profound mystery—a narrative concealed from the awareness of men, embodying archetypes that resonate with the human mind. 
Once, like Narcissus, I would sit upon its shores, contemplating the limits of human potential and the intricacies of our origins. Each bow revealed a reflection transforming into butterflies upon the water.
In the realms beyond human comprehension, where the chaos of origin defies understanding, butterflies in the water perform a dance, heralding the genesis of life and its journey from there to mine. Life, omnipresent and diverse, adapts and persists. It is said that even a butterfly's flap can birth a storm, and tears can unleash torrents. Ideas burgeon into change, thoughts manifest into reality. 
Rage echoes within me—I am the wind, elusive and untraceable. I shall blow, summoning butterflies from the altar of her liquid realm. The friction of wind propels the momentum of water. The untamed spirit beneath the water will rise, lifting her to the celestial guardians of rain and lightning; stars will dangle from her locks, bleeding hues of light. On the wings of her celestial surge, the cosmos will hover for eternity. She shall embody the very essence and fury of the wind.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Utopia in Heaven

Fractions of ambivalence intervened with facts confuse me. What sort of memory should I resort to? What sort of woods should I head to? Moreover, what sort of thought I should entertain? serenity compromised with the rage still ravish me, for the flight unto the firmament where the manipulated thoughts have placed both the hell and heaven, though both of them begin with 'H', I see two parallel lines running towards uncertainty. However, somewhere in between I also see a line connecting them! Yeah, both Hell and Heaven are connected- ('H' with a '-'). I dream of a thought where both hell and heaven live in harmony and peace. What a beautiful thing to remember! Both constructive Satan and God share their love, thoughts, and goodwill in peace and co-operation! I think it’s happening right there in my crazy thoughts. off topic - What is love? Love is beyond definition and it transcends all barriers and definition. Once a question was asked to me on l...

Yellow Butterflies

She had just celebrated her hundredth birthday. A hundred years. The number fascinated me more than the life it contained. I looked at her and thought, What a blessing. Imagine living for a century. At that age, I still measured life in quantity. I had not yet learned that years accumulate differently from meaning. She rarely spoke. The world had slowly withdrawn from her senses. Food no longer delighted her. Conversations dissolved before reaching her. The pleasures that once animated her existence had become distant rumours from another life. She had possessed almost everything one could desire—a loving husband, a beautiful home, security, comfort, longevity. By every conventional measure, she had won. Yet old age is a peculiar thief. It does not steal all at once. It removes things patiently, one by one, until only a few fragments remain. For Anne, only three things survived the wreckage. Her husband. Her home. And the longing to return. Every day she asked the same questions. ...

Wake me up...

Wake me up when December bells. until then, let me sleep in thy...