"We can deny the past but we cant escape its torment because the past is a speaking shadow that keeps pace with the truth of what we are...step for step...until we die."
-Gregory David Roberts(Shantaram)
A long walk on a rainy day...along the outskirts of the forest...crumbling on pebbles...sucked in by the luscious green...numbed by the aroma of the wet mud....feeling the winds caress your soul...you walk with contentment on your face...a feeling of being free...free from the shackles of despair and worldly subterfuge...and as you gulp in the the rustic air, you revel in this flapping of the soul...this solitude which opens the sageway to a phosphorus, prismic tunnel...and you enter with a sense of exhilaration....your pliant steps cautios and your trembling limbs hoping to emrace freedom therein...in this silent rendezvous between you and nature...you and yourself...you and your soul...
And this exultation siezies you...encapsulates you in a mystic haze...a musical trance......you catch the glimpse of a solitary bird perched on the cross of an abandoned church......staring at the 0range skies...and the wilderness seeping unchecked through its sinister boundaries....and you get engulfed by a mist of harmony...as tranquil as a bride's wand of flowers...as serene as a priest's rosary... amidst this island of free spirits you float on tides of Edenic bliss,like a blade of grass adhering to the whims of the wind...sans chains and bounds....sans conflicts....sans the sense of the world.......
Along this twisted road of spiritual festvities your step suddenly encounters an impediment...a trench full of auras so human...and you stop dead...the voice brings back to your mind some long forgotten events...some locks long sealed...and suddenly a chain reaction of remembrances is unleashed...you frantically search your haven of freedom...the bushes remind you of your orchard of unyielded friuts, the sky of a picturesque painting dangling on some distant wall...the solitary bird opens the flood gates of remenicences of a flight taken years down the lane...the closed gate of the haunted church opens on the central page the memoir of the tale of violation and broken hearts...the reigning cross screams of blood and supression of of the spirit...the gentle rains shove in front of your eyes the torrent of some other season...the aroma of earth induces the frangrances of some hunger quenching food had in some other trajectory of space...and you enter the terrain of concrete life now..the impoverishd old man seeking shelter in some gutter reminds you of your first dwelling...the roving beasts of some ancestral fields...the moving traffic echoes the stunts of some film seen years back...the sight of lovers tingles the senses with caresses of your lost love....the vision of some magnificent mansion arouses regrets for not being able to be inside...the darkness of a passerby's eyes makes you shudder at the thought of some unforgettably tenebrous night.....
And your mirrors of illussions shatter and you walk again...this time not floating in fantasies but treading on broken realities and a sardonic smile conquers your face as you realise the futility of your desprate searches...the prentenses of seeking freedom...the chains fastened hard to your soul everytime you claim to be free...and ahead on the road of life you walk...letting the one and the only truth seep in....that you can never be free....for whrever you go you carry your own burdens...a load you cannot shed...cages you cannot open...locks without keys....there is not a free soul on earth for no one can unbound oneself from the shackles of memories.........
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment