Took a wrong turn in the Marauder's Map..

Pitch dark.No promenades in the parks and fairs named – Anything You Want It To Be and rightly so.The lights glimmer and the music rhymes.The wood,bolts,iron rods and the structured mechanism, buttressed with current which helps them work, brandish and vacillate exuding a charm hardly ever gone wrong. The charm never meets company.Fairy godmother is baffled with her skills challenged and stares mysteriously at her wand. Cindrella is all dressed up and pretty and with her glass slippers on but Prince Charming stands uptight..no lines,no curves,no looks of delight..Resembles a starch faced sculpture. But it’s supposed to be ‘happily ever after’ and its possible now and here…in this world placed outside the world.The Pied Piper plays the flute but the rats are stone deaf.

It is not a one way ticket. The ride will take you back home and all for free.It is like you toss a bone to your pet dog and he turns the other way. You stare wide eyed and dislike the human trait of refusing and choosing in something not human.Bones are harmful for them but humans love the idea of watching the digs of the canine ,extracting the juice and tearing down the remains of the last remains. The bone hangs in the mid air swerving in different directions controlled by a human hand.The directions rebel against the attempts made by two paws in the air and inner jest to grab it. They call it entertainment. While the child laughs at the failed attempts, the furball continues the bolero.Little does the toddler realize he/she feeds poison ..a slow poison to his/her beloved and infinitesimal idea has the dog got that he invites his own grave. Nature has termed both of them as pure and innocent by birth,design and characteristics. They both go unpunished. The inferno of Satan is seen as a bonhomie around a bonfire.

Still dark. The flow of nothingness. Peaceful not by contentment but by lack of it. The turbulence is bellowed at.It sits at the corner of the dark room staring at a shade darker than black and with a dunce cap on. A little white appears.You can see the white because the yellow supports it. Five seconds of the new hue and you start missing the old friend.The desire to go back for the want of it or just an escapade?? A twist of spinal cord and the surface area occupied by the flesh-bones and supposedly emotions is halved.The new color is brown and it is majestic.The four strong legs of brown carries the sheets of wisdom crown.The brawn holds the brains.It will have to wait.Any color will do as long as its black. It’s dark again by choice.
The eye decides to meet other residents of the colony of life.The spirit has advised it to do so. They claim to be different but are the same in everything different. A Zeal of zebra bray and want you to identify each one of them as a separate. You are hapless due to this impossibility beseeched. But they claim that some great men had dictionaries devoid of that word – impossible. Surely such dictionaries still exist…passed on by the hierarchy pyramid or the family tree…The Greats(the fruits) to the sybarite successors of the Greats(the branches laden with fruits) to the boisterous individuals carrying a great history ( the bark which is too thin to hold on ) and finally the naughts thriving leeches of borrowed illumination too soiled( the roots) to even hold a grip.A strong wind bows down the Great eventually. A person should die in the same century he taken birth in. Death is an adventure sport. It leaves you puffing and panting for breath, makes you feel light and see the light, makes you wonder if you can actually fool it. It is better to die of one respectable calamity than die a thousand deaths of banal figments of imagination of the limbless creepers clinging to anything that helps them climb.The eye misses the black.The spinal cord longs for the velvet opulent with cotton.Its black again.

The new exposure has its effects. The flow of red is in the other direction.Up , speedily up and in furious pace.Red meets the seer of the body.All calm is lost.The brevity of their meet is the vestige of the power of emotions.Emotions sometimes so unreasonable. Transparent drops rush and the bailiwick becomes hot due the stream.Whatever boils fervently, ultimately vaporizes. The fire cracker seems to fizzle out sooner than imagined.Each new venture short lived. To concentrate it needs to be indulging in 10 different works. You are a human centipede.For once can’t you think without thinking?

The gathering is victualed to spread the fortune of one .Pray, this spread will only spread and stretch till you mis-(the)-fortune..The food is bland. Pickles serve as a supplant to the otherwise tedious consumption. The tang loved,the piquant rejoiced and the smacking of lips displayed. Everyone is happy. The pickle is important and proclaimed a life saver. But the pickle is a celebrity only on the weekends when one can afford to get entertained and be amused. Other mundane days are of pragmatic exercise. The hand automatically stretches out for easy and judicial option…the salt.Pickle , no more is a necessity.You are what they want when there is no want at all. The painter was jubilant as he violently controlled the strokes of the brush.You sat patiently,amused at the acme of excitement you had caused.As the clock ticks and the joined triplets who look nothing alike change locations, the painter yawns behind the canvas.You fail to notice and still feel important.He is a painter in his leisure time.He has to get back to the real world which will win him bread and butter. He assures his return to finish what he had started off with. I am a need and this need will bring him back.You fool yourself.Was the world laughing with you or at you?

You look at the mirror for a reality check.The mirror turns out to be an amusement park which transmits to you nothing but distorted signals from a reality forever beyond your grasp.The change is frightening but this didn’t occur overnight.The failure to recognize this metamorphosis and the inability to provide a barrage to it is humiliating.How can one not notice oneself? You want to try what you imagined but ugly misfit picture makes you tremble. The pretty titbits which were picked up out of pure fascination are put back where they belong. You go back to the regular wholesome meal.The carpets seem to hide so much.They provide so much comfort.You want to go back to black asap.

The climb up the ladder is tricky but you seem better equipped this time around.The dice rolls in your favour and you climb further.One false move and you end up in the serpents mouth. You slide down smoothly dejected. You are back to square one. The guns blaze as the sun wakes up.The firing continues incessantly till dawn. You seem to be out of bullets and the enemy is still armed.You plan intoxication at this crucial moment.This is like planning your own burial but you claim to be already intoxicated with the guzzling of situations you had never anticipated.Each day a new start and each night the same end.The race seemed exciting as you ran with all your might but suddenly you notice the same surroundings.How could this be? You are running forward so why is time turning back? The track is circular and you reach where you started. You ran on the wrong track in the wrong race all this while. How did your own speed led you to believe that you were on a forward journey when all the while you just sat at home letting the enthusiasm do the fatal and misleading run.What blinds the eye…the love or fear? Which is a greater emotion? Do we love out of fear or fear out of love? Fear to end up in an arena made designedly or love for a nascent desire? Fear shows you the picture which love hides from you. Fear does the dirty job for life.

Black paralyzes the soul and constipates the actions. Black injects morphine and abates the agitation and restlessness. The colors just make you love black better. The eye has to see white.White is ultimately the mixture of all the hues. You don’t have to see them all now. Just see some white. The reason to love something is not because you hate its opposite. White is not an enemy.Not a jealous replacement. Just give it a shot.Go drink coffee with it. More of white n less of black is the key. You know it. Black right now is the Agony aunt lending you a shoulder to cry on. Arrested development is what I see.White has never seen you as a victim..never a survivor,always a warrior.Just give it a chance. A fair chance.