Desensitized

Pakistan

 

Maybe I’ve been desensitized to their sufferings

Maybe I’ve watched enough desecrated bodies to not catalogue them as bodies anymore

It’s no big deal no more, they’re just a number to show

 

The land that was celebrated on spilled blood, still is

The land that was celebrated on public service has a me before anyone policy

The land we wanted for freedom of expression uses it to grieve

 

Grieve for the hundreds that die everyday

The mother that loses her child to corrupt mafias

The sister that loses her brother in target killing

Or the father who went to pray, only to have his own prayer offered

 

Grieve for the sleepless nights spent wondering if today would be the day sons don’t come home

The restless days thinking their daughters would be harassed

Or the adolescent that wakes up shivering thinking about the things that could go wrong

We grieve, it’s the one thing we know how to do so well we don’t even feel it anymore

 

25591-partition-1439465408-214-640x480

 

This is the land they died to protect, left everything to get

The system of loot, plunder, rape and murder that started then has continued today

Years later, we’re still burying in mass graves, we’re still crying our lives away

 

Maybe that’s what freedom meant, funerals our way

The thousands that die, the countless that did

Maybe I’ve been desensitized to their sufferings,

 

Bombs blast, shots fired – What if they did?

Beads of Blood.

What do they know?.

A-baby-fetus-emerges-from-blood-clots-in-this-powerful-painting-by-Shann-Larsson

 

You would think it hurts, It doesn’t. It’s a high, a relief when for a sweet second, you can point out the direction of the pain in real time, you can have an active reason to feel. They always say it incredulously as if who would want to feel the pain.

I smile to myself, what do they know.

Finally, I’m in control, I can determine myself what I want to feel, how I want to feel and for a freeing moment; I’m me.

As the drops of crimson appear, I’m laughing.

I’m laughing because I can finally see you again.

I’m laughing because this is one thing that I get to keep.

I’m laughing because these beads of shared blood and your voice in my head covers all my senses until all I can see and feel and hear, is you.

It’s madness and I’m laughing because this madness is mine and no one can take me from me.

.Multiverse.

 

Michelangelo PietaWhen someone we love dies, a part of us dies along with them but unlike the physical remains of that said person that we bury deep in the ground – unlike every other living thing that dies – we do not bury this part but rather, carry it with us, a constant bearing on our being for the rest of our lives.

In the 1890s, William James came up with the theory about “the multiverse”. Every once in a while, the dead part inside takes over the rest of our heart and makes us think about the hypothetical set of multiple universes comprising everything that can possibly exist simultaneously. Teasing the idea of an alternative life, a different fate. It spreads like darkness, snuffing the light out, making us question our entire existence, making us resemble our dear departed loved ones as best as we can; Turning us into a false rendition of corpses, dead in all sense but talking, breathing and in a manner of speaking, alive.

The darkness is tempting, a way to be close to the loved ones that have left us, a way to keep them alive by losing ourselves in their grief, losing ourselves with them. Some strong people though resist it, making its reign last only for some time, fighting with it every day, breathing life into the living corpse, a little more everyday using its battle within as a driving force to honour the people lost in the best way possible. Those people are few though and with good reason. The hardest part in the world is to let go of all the possibilities that could be and that is actually what is the worst. Waking up everyday and thinking about the future we were cheated of. The could have been’s.

when someone dies

So I think of William James’ theory; The entirety of space, time, matter and energy all happening at once in different timelines. Parallel universe with all the what ifs and the could have been’s. So let’s presume that idea is real. Then maybe, in those infinite universes is one, or more, where you stay. Maybe there is a universe out there, happening right now where we stay at home that day, where my last words to you don’t haunt me forever, where I don’t lose you. A universe in which, when I close my eyes at night, I’m not dreaming about what could be but rather as a normal person would, about outrageous fairytales and handsome princes without the sadness that exists in everything now, even the happy times.

Maybe that’s what I see. The flashes of our life in the multiverse. They are not simple dreams you see; They are scientific, anachronistic visions. After all, we shared a womb so what’s to say we don’t share flashes of life across universes. I wish you could see me in this one though. Miss you best friend.

Scattered thoughts. Incomplete sentences.

if-no-one-else-the-dying-must-notice-how-unreal-how-full-of-pretense-is-all-that-we-accomplish-here-quote-1

Not bodies. Not people. A bundle of feelings. Memories and Moments. Each light that’s snuffed out leaves a permanent shadow in someone else’s life. Numerous dreams lurking in the dark. Wishes suspended in the sky. Leaving the world darker. Changing things in a way that’s never the same again. A song at an end. The notes fading away. Silence. It’s those left behind that have it the hardest. To come to terms that they would never feel a certain way again. All that’s left being a non-existent future turned to dust. Glossy pictures, Painted smiles, Reminding them of time that shined. A string of I love yous and I’m sorry’s. So much left unsaid. A constant hole, nagging in the chest.The father, the mother, the siblings, not one thinking what if. What if it was the last time? What if the next time we saw the other was in a box of intricate wood with the very flag we fought to wave being the one to wrap it tight. A veil between all that was familiar and what is now and would be. Not one life, but a million others tangled. All along never realizing the beauty of the life that had been theirs. Building life from its foundations, always wanting to change its structure, always vying for what they didn’t have. Building life, to die.

No Going Back.

abstract-art-9

Loss changes you. It might not be a change as visible as a splash of colour on a black and white painting but its definitely as if there is a slight shift in everything around us. As if the molecules disassemble and rearrange themselves, changing everything even as life moves on the same way like before, leaving us stranded on the shore.

You can pretend all you like, but the person looking back at you in the mirror is no longer whole and the empty place echoing within you does nothing to hide it.

You never really recover from some things. They call it heartbreak, because that’s exactly what happens. Your heart breaks and you’re never whole again and you can live or mask the scars with laughter and happiness but it sneaks up on you; The absolute cruelty of it all, the woes of your depraved soul desperate to find itself again and its all you can do to take a deep breath and smile.

Loss does one of two things to those it leaves behind – It meshes us together, forcing us to let go of every feeling we know to form some semblance of an existence again, or it tears open the wound, making us slowly bleed out, widening the divide so much that we’d do whatever it takes to try and pretend that shit’s not real. We know better though. Its a nightmare you cannot escape, no matter how much you scream and beg to be let out off. You’ll always be the person holding your war stories close, proud of your scars even as you lock them away within the confines of your heart. Always, at the precipice of insanity and even you go back to life, you know, in reality, there is no going back.