The Mist

It takes us to a land of serenity, a land where all are blissful, where all attain nirvana, the greatest of happiness.
It asks us to take the one small step, and not worry, for we do not know, what lies ahead.
It calms frayed nerves and soothes old wounds.

The mist hides the deepest and the darkest of secrets, concealing in it both the good and the evil, the truth and the lies.
But sometimes, it can be a sign of peace, of calm, of Beauty.  Slowly a moving away from us, but ever closer.  Mysterious but known.
It whispers to us “Do not worry, child, the world lies in wait…” From the hilltop, it covers the land below, as if asking us to stare into the horizon.  In the night,  it lets through only the lights of the cities below, unwillingly letting us know where our fellow men and women dwell,  gushing their lives away for worthless stacks of paper,  forgetting to live,  forgetting to breath,  forgetting to love.
But it does not forget these beings… It falls on them as well, reminding them that life is more than this…  It is to explore,   to find the unknown, to push our imagination further, to push harder, and make our life worthy of being lived.

But they pollute it, with the poison of their machines, killing themselves slowly.
It falls over their blackened lakes, their dead trees.

Hoping for a rebirth, hoping they will realize their folly and be whole again.

By

Ananth Krishna

Credits for Picture: Robert D. Stephens (Picture of Mumbai/Bombay)

Originally Appeared as a post in Ashtray Diaries

#2 The Dove

When a dove begins to associate with crows, its feathers remain white but its heart grows black.
We like to think of ourselves as free beings. Living life the way we want to. Except for the fact that in reality we quite often live life however we want to. The difference is duly noted by an observer- a teacher, parent or perhaps a friend- but rarely by the person himself.
Teenage.  One can be described as ‘green’. Also to symbolise envy, greed or ambition. A turning point of sorts. An abyss of negativity overcome with patience, experience and time. Where one is – boiling, screaming, and continually metamorphosing. Where one begins to detest being restricted by conditions which the imposers have no intentions of ever applying on themselves. A prelude to the future perhaps? Where the rich overpower the poor. Where chauvinistic pigs criticise others, and fail to live up to the standards they set. All bark and no bite. A hollow entity comprising of empty words.
Time. A friend or foe? An endless debate. Yet another labelled as a matter of perspective.
With time however, there is reflection – most can attest to that. Fibres of our being yearn for connection. We see ourselves torn open, with no say in it whatsoever.  And yet, our protests are all but in name. Captivated. Allured. We feel alive. We become addicted to this ‘living’. Where bonds leave vulnerabilities. And with it a whole new experience to be trodden upon. The risk of pain grows and with it the yearning for more bonds. The abyss is no longer convoluted as before- it becomes shallow; it’s depth fathomable.
People say that pain is the strongest emotion in the world.
But love is the most painful thing in the world.
It therefore follows that love is the strongest emotion in the world.
Be it by blood or by brotherhood, the fact remains.
And yet, when these sacred bonds are violated, change occurs – a metamorphosis of sorts. One day, we look into the mirror to see a stranger - an emotionless, cold, calculating, manipulative and self-centred person. The perfect shell to a wounded self. There is no more pain. It seems to have frozen with the change. His gaze completely indifferent. He looks not upon the world with renewed enthusiasm and vigour with each stride. To describe it is cumbersome. His gaze could be said to be that of a professional gambler gauging the merits of a thoroughbred at the derby. Like a puppeteer setting up shop again, bonds reattach like strings- never as strong as before. Thinner.  And stretched fine to avoid attachment.
Time passes. The metamorphosis continues. As does the introspection. And with the advent of an epiphany the identity of the stranger is no longer a mystery.
 He is......me?

“As I stare silently to ruminate on what could've been, I try to forget what has been and try to focus on the here and now. The path is difficult, and the destination uncertain. But as the clichéd saying goes, 'it's not the destination that matters'. Its how you go and who you go with that makes all the difference.”