Manifestation of Mindlessness

Some times, the pain becomes unbearable.
Just like being breathless in a gutter

Sometimes I am trapped in this maze of toxicity
I try but there is no way of getting out

Perhaps to be more accurate,
there is no way of making my mind seek the exit

No, it wants to linger in this pain. A sodomism hard to explain. The pain is real but so is the addiction to it. Once my shirt is slightly stained, the only reaction I produce is the need to deny the guilt. No, there is no stain.

There is no stain by any stretch of imagination. None whatsoever. And whoever proclaims otherwise is evil. Not even ignorant. No, evil. Gullible.

But the stain is right there, there is the guilt. I will never wash myself clean off of it, though I will never be able to define it either. And there is the pain, arising from this denial, the self-deceit.

But I am too much on fire to realise this. My only concern is to prove that I am blameless and so must be obliged. I am so concinved that I don't even see the foolishness, even as it stands right in front of my eyes.

So I fight harder, trying to make the white win and make the black lose. Because I think I am as white they come.

I shout and scream, or just stay silent and fight that way. Play the victim that I think I am. Play the punisher when I can get away with it.

In the end, I take it all too seriously. And end up fouling others but never be forgiving of  their fouls.

A day or two later, when the senses finally hit home, that is the real shame. Because even then, I seem to be too keen on being accepting of my behaviour, but only forgiving when it comes to others.

Immortality

Thirty four – the number of people killed today when the PNB-Agra Express crashed into a truck on the tracks. Just another day in a stretched out sequence of train accidents. It does sound like a stretch of the same thing happening over and over, rather than a new experience. Trains crash everyday. People die everyday. Last week even, was it one-hundred and four people or was it one-eighty that got killed when some other express derailed? Point being, I couldn’t care less these days.

Thirty-four? Not impressed. I’ve seen a lot more and didn’t even cringe.

Statistically speaking, isn’t it some 1.4% or 0.03% of all the casualties everyday, in whatever ways people get around to dying? I mean, why just count train crashes?

How does it matter that, that’s another thirty-four smiles not happening anymore. In that train, on that day, among those dead, there must be a kid playing around with new-made friends on the upper birth. Or maybe he is thinking of the upcoming holidays. How he would play cricket on the terrace with his best friends every single day of the summer. And he would bat a lot!

Surely, there was, among the casualties, some brother frustrating his younger brother over why tea is better than coffee and what the choice tells about ones character. Like my brother argues with me over whether my career choices can get any worse.

But that brother is dead now. So is his son and his parents. And maybe even his wife and younger brother.

But relax, they are not the ones writing and listening to this. We are. And we are just sitting here and talking right. Safe, and assured about our immortality.

The problem

And then, you took yourself seriously again. You thought that your happiness it is an important issue. That everything should align towards that end. And that, my friend, is the problem.