I have never understood the concept of 'belonging'.
How could any thing,
Or being of this planet be assigned to anything?
Who would decide that?
What would it mean to that person?
I have noticed that it often becomes a part of their personality,
But what is its relevance?
What is this 'belonging' to begin with?
– Maya Desdemona
Pessoa once wrote
In his Book of Disquiet,
That "Only the imprisoned,
With the fascination
Of someone watching ants,
Would pay such attention
To one shifting ray of sunlight."
At first I begged to differ,
Stating my reasoning
That great poets were never once caged,
But the more I thought on the matter
The clearer it seemed to me,
That the only cage holding such a poet
Is one of his own decree.
– Maya Desdemona
I am here,
Though my mind is anywhere but.
That mind refuses to be caged
In the tight confines of the cranium,
And freely roams the world.
The tragedies of Old
And comedies that are new
Are where you will find mine,
Forever seeking entertainment.
Oftentimes I wonder
Why it leaves me behind.
Take me with you, dear mind,
Don't leave the flesh behind on this planet.
Yet the mind will forever only watch,
Never feel the emotions that
It travels Fact and Fiction to see.
I suppose,
In this sense,
A closed cage is better than
Never feeling what one sees.
– Maya Desdemona
I suppose the reason I find the human mind the most rotten of all is only because it is the only one I know and understand.
There could be something way more malicious, but a human being would never know, for one can only truly communicate with other humans.
...
How terrifying.
– Maya Desdemona
I passed by a small lake,
Devoid of even a single ripple,
And saw it reflect everything beside it with perfect clarity.
To me, it seemed more truthful than
Any mirror I had ever gazed upon.
I saw it for but a fleeting moment,
But that simple glance showed me an entire world around it.
– Maya Desdemona
A most curious thought came upon me today.
Such a mundane action
Of lighting a candle
Is hardly what one would call
'Thought provoking'.
Yet on this day,
In this very hour,
I suppose I could blame the environment
For this unexpected conflict,
I find myself sympathising with a Matchstick.
One of many,
A most unremarkable one, at that,
That so happened to expire in my hand.
Once it served its purpose,
It was simply blown out without a second glance.
But today,
The mind lingered on an observation.
That matchstick continued to burn,
Albeit a dying ember now.
Yet all it took was a small tremor,
A flick of my wrist,
For that small light
To be snatched away.
How similar material objects are to their creators.
– Maya Desdemona
They say war makes humans unique,
Yet octopi and ants fight the same as us.
What is the difference then,
Between us and them?
Yet if war doesn't differentiate us,
What makes us any different from animals?
If there is such an answer,
Couldn't anyone just tell me?
– Arsh
I can never understand how
A person can associate the night,
With its peaceful presence,
The numerous stars,
The ever changing sky
And the lonesome moon with evil.
Maybe it is because the night holds us when we are most vulnerable,
And sees us for who we are.
It is only the Night which can see all our sins, and all our misgivings.
It is only in the Night, where the stoned face sheds a tear.
It is only in the Night, where the most paranoid shuts one eye.
It is only the Night which shadows the wrongdoings of the human race.
It is only the Night which shadows a predator from its prey.
It is only the Night which can see our dreams and nightmares, a myriad of emotions Stemming from the plagues of the mind and the soul.
Maybe it is simply because, the Night always sees.
No, let us put this argument in perspective.
It is forced to see what the day does not.
It does not wish to cover the crimes of both man and not.
It cannot reach out to console those who find solace in it.
The moon is merely the sun in disguise,
Miserably looking upon what the man does behind its back.
– Maya Desdemona
Does anyone else wonder,
How permanent 'Always' is?
"I will always be with you."
"We always need a shoulder to rely on."
"You will always be haunted by your sins."
"They will always consider you different."
Every 'Always' we hear,
We seem to forget,
Chemistry's first rule.
Stating that Change is Constant.
What guarantee do we have,
That we will not see better,
Or worse days?
"This too shall pass"
A wise person once said,
And this ideology
Happens to be the one I believe in.
– Maya Desdemona
It was only today I noticed,
That around my home
A moth hopelessly circled round.
It was nothing extraordinary,
Most certainly not the first either.
Yet its pale and ghostly hovering,
Left me dark and pensive.
Its almost lethargic flapping,
Seeking only a place of darkness,
As in its mind, a safety was only found there.
And a wardrobe could not be an option.
For the wardrobe, the ghastly thing,
Only gave an illusion of comfort.
And all that is in there,
Is its predecessor's remains.
And so, I simply watched,
Knowing its fate,
As its tireless flight
Slowly withered away.
Yet it kept flying in circles
Flying around the entire house,
From room to room
And nook to cranny
Exploring every possible place for some rest.
As its flying became desperate,
Hopelessly looking again and again,
I wondered if it ever questioned,
What it was doing in the first place.
Why was the darkness so necessary for it?
It seemed to be fine in the light,
Yet it was restless,
Looking for it in a room full of brightness.
Did it not see the darkness outside the window?
Did it realise it could not go through it?
Had it already tried that?
These questions thoughtlessly floated in my brain.
I don't know how long I sat there thinking,
But eventually,
I observed that the moth was nowhere to be seen.
I do not know whether it is alive or dead.
I wonder if it ever realised that
It had no escape unless we opened a window for it.
– Maya Desdemona
Luminousis 