Entry #127

The Poet
by Vinayak Kishore


And he wondered what would it be. This piece of rock, on which he sat? Or would it be the wind, which was beginning to resume its union with the evening chill, compelling him to make an effort to pull that extra breath in himself and whispering sensually incoherent words in his ears. Or would it be the euphoric chatter of the invisible beings in the woods, which were repeatedly and curiously asking this stranger the purpose of his untimely visit? Or would all this just be reason enough, to make him plunge into what was, is, and what should be? He finally raised his head nonchalantly, to find it in strangely maneuvering visions of his past. And instead, found it in a soul aimlessly wandering in the sea of eternity. Was it a vision of his very own mind, searching for answers that may question the questions that bother him day and night? Or was it what he would love to be, and float without the desire of being desire free. Or perhaps it’s there to remind him that he is human, and can only dream of freedom from his own thoughts that compel him to submit to the bondages of life. He wished he could, he thought he should and embarked on a journey to infinity. He smiled and closed his eyes, to wander away to places where he wanted to be, and realized how this flying beast, had become his grand epiphany.


(Vinayak is 22 years old and I am currently pursuing M.A. in Sociology from Delhi School of Economics and Sociology, Delhi, India.)