September

You sneak out of the window and all of a sudden it’s autumn. Every leaf on the tree flutters to tell noticeably that it’s here. Days get divided in equal dark and equal light. The air becomes crisp and you try to smell hard. It smells smoky. And you don’t know what to do with your recently orphaned august daydreams. So you tuck them between the pages of the brand new notebooks and leave them hanging on the branches of up reaching trees. And you set them on fire until the trees are smoldering red and orange and yellow.

It is here to stay for awhile like an old friend, you’ve been missing. Sitting under the blue skies it will settle in your favourite chair and take out his pipe. The afternoon will get filled with some dense smoke and the stories about the things he has done since last he saw you. The sun would love to warm the back instead of heating the head.

Possibly you’ll look back but that’s not where you would want to see yourself. Oh so nice and golden sun will set with a promise of less miseries. You would look forward for the times ahead, sitting cross legged.  It is the time of transition. The silent thrill in your chest will simply take you through the evening.


Under the bright moon light with not so nervous fingers, stitch a blanket of warmth for yourself. Because the air during the night gets increasingly crisper. Violently sparkling stars would be quite enough reason to awaken your dreams, once again. Your own September dreams.

This time, keep them safely in the shelf next to the window. And don’t let them ride the wind.

Death

It is watching me. It is waiting for me to give up. It is waiting for me to stop believing in what we call as life.  So everyday, I get up and I remind myself that death is there, just behind me, waiting. 

No, the death I am talking about is the death on the inside. The death of my spirit. It is waiting to laugh about my wasted time. It is waiting to laugh on how I set things to achieve, and I fail. It is waiting for my voice to tremble and swallow my words. It is waiting to tell me that my existence is a synonym of meaningless. It is waiting to reach me when my

My life doesn’t end when I stop breathing. This is certainly something when your heart stops beating and your body slowly loses its warmth. And you lie down and you shut up forever.

My life doesn’t end when I become unable to make a fist. My life ends when I stop trying to make a fist. My life ends the moment I stop working towards something greater than me. I would end the moment I retreat from my sense of duties.

I do not know when the real death- the stiff body death- comes. I can just try to keep it away, but can never defeat it . No one can. That is Okay. That is not even scary.  I am not scared of the moment when my nervous system shuts down forever. It is soothing to know that I will return to the silent dark nothing that I came from. It shall change the existence. It shall change the residence. I believe the stiff body death must be beautiful. Because once you meet, it hypnotizes you and takes you away from living anymore.

But what I am scared is of another death. I am scared of the death of smallness. Where there is not more than mere existence.  I am afraid of the death where my mind gives up trying to live before my body does. Every day I wrestle with this death thought and every day I have to kick myself and scream at the face of the earth “Today I’ll succeed. Today I will use my time wisely. Today I’ll live.”