2014, My Writings

My dark man.

“It is not I who accepted the Dark Life. The Dark Life accepted me.”

He sat on a rock, his head bowed and hands resting on knees. “I did not want to be what I have become. But I like it now… It suits me. I feel I am where I belong. It is Real. It is Me.”

I was sitting before him on the road and there was no one else around. When he said these words, I looked at him. I wanted more answers, and I was searching for them in his eyes. They are windows to your soul, after all, but somehow his soul was a locked corridor now– the key to which was unknown to even himself, I suppose.

“Are you satisfied without having any friends?” I asked.

“You are my friend!” he replied with a smile. I will never forget that smile.

“I know that,” I said his name, “but I am not always there around you, right? I never know where you are, what you are doing, how you’ve been. I worry about you. Who takes care of you when you’re not here? No one. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you don’t give an inch importance to yourself either. Why?

“I don’t need to. I am happy and more contented with my life than you can imagine. I don’t need these things. Care, look-after, love; these aid other people… People who can’t live without people, who depend on other humans and emotions as a weakling depends on crutches. I have come far from that now. It makes no sense to me.”

How would he know what “weaklings” were truly like, I thought. People need people, they need these “crutches” to walk around this world. Why doesn’t he get it? Or more importantly, how did he overcome this necessity?

He was at ease with his lifestyle, and he meant his words more than any of us could. He could see beyond his time, and yet no future thought worried him. He could look in a glance at his past and go through his early details in a minute– yet he was one whom you’d never find regretting or complaining about his choices (or their causes), or taking pleasure in revisiting his memory lanes for that matter.

He was not normal. Yet he looked more saner than many, some times. That was perhaps because he had given himself to his goal: it could either be absolute good or absolute evil that would complete your life and give meaning to your otherwise worthless existence. He had found ‘It’ in evil.

“Would you come back to meet me again?” one asked.

“Yes. But it will take longer this time.” other replied.

We both smiled as he got up and held out his hand to me, which I gave without a moment’s pause. Standing face-to-face I tried yet again to search him in his eyes, as if their color would light my way too and I’d be able to find a clue. He stepped closer and put his hand softly on mine, slowly whispering a “no”. Maybe he thought I could really do that if I tried?

He turned around then, and started to move away. There was the famous S-shaped scar at the back of his neck which always looked fresh and red, and was so deeply cut a wound that it pained me to only look at it. I followed him with my gaze, thinking of what he was and what he could never be, until tears blocked my vision and I smiled to let go.

[Okay, hellooo. I was having a real hard time connecting words but I also badly wanted to write a story-sort so here goes. Let me know what you think of it!]

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By the roaring waves!, My Writings

Lordly

I will write you a poetry
All yours will it be
Mesmeric like you are,
Worshiper I will be

Your Majesty! May I sit here and draw your portrait?
“Do it. But miss a single color, and you’ll be beheaded.”
I won’t, Master. Please let me have the honor!
“Granted.”
‘Thank you’, he whispered and bowed.

He began to empty his best colors onto his white palette, and wet his paint brushes on them. Looking at his canvas, he raised his right hand to wipe it.

I will draw you a sculpture
Of your own charismatic self
Complete like you are,
Devotee I will be.

Moments passed- or perhaps ages, after which he raised his head and looked at his half-completed piece of art. A smile appeared as he began to appreciate his own skill and the next moment he was thinking how the Master would like his fruit of hard work.

I will paint you some words
Dripping with warmth and affection,
Brilliant as you are,
Blessed I will be.

His head dropped low again, and his fingers voluntarily marked streaks of his own favorite colors this time, as he chose which one His Majesty would like, and which He should.

I will sit before you for hours
Counting your image and presence,
Almighty as you are,
Fortunate I will be.

Finally that it was completed, he held it close like a mother holds her newborn, and looked at it for one long time. It was marvelous indeed! A hundred colors had been put, a hundred hopes and dreams. With a heart beating fast, he stepped towards His Majesty and bowed.

“Show me what you did.”
‘Your Highness! Here’, he felt his voice come out from deep within, as he handed over his work with trembling hands.

“Name it.”
‘You’.
“Why me?”
‘Because you are my complete self, my reason to being.’

“If I destroy it?”
‘Please do. But keep me!’
“I will.”

 

– By: Maria Imran ~RandomlyAbstract~

Lordly_ria

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