Gardens of Gloom
On casual walk down the lanes, I found faces of people imprinted with million questions of confusion
Aurangzeb Aarif/ Meer Abass
“The lanes of my existence,I thought as my palace of happiness”
“Who knew what cooks behind the doors of such illusionary kingdoms”
What it takes! The question of gloom to transcend over the beautiful race of this universe; I am prefixed within the room of my thoughts and spewing coffee to understand what makes the gleam of human faces so gloomy. On casual walk down the lanes, I found faces of people imprinted with million questions of confusion, which was dragging them to the storms of internal grief. What I needed an interview of random people to understand the basic pitch of gloom and illusionary threat inside their hearts.
On casual drives, the ink of my pen saw unsung stories of struggle imprinted on them, unimaginable self inflicted pain on them, a journey of unfinished dreams having unfinished stories roaring inside the gardens of their eyes. The clause of a writer within me wished to grab the entire story on the faces of people who were trolling the lanes of their goals with unknown fate.
I filled the ink of curiosity in the drapes of my pen and made the vibe of my fingers to write about the interaction with people I met, having smile of showoff and deep within drowned in the key search of answers for their goals. When the kiss of first ink touched the pages of my write up, it guided me to the picture of entwined cross roads, which were overlapping with the confusion of each other.
The painting of such confusion made my eyes to find a victim of clubbed gleam who would be depicting the temple of entire story framed in one body. The flaps of such curiosity began to roam within me until I discovered I too had become a victim of gloom, as I wasn’t unable to find the answers from the spring of my visualized ink.
The situation was turning erratic until my focus thumped on the lentils of a painting hanging on the wall of a museum. The lashes of my heart pressed the glance of my eyes towards it and lo! the painting was describing a soul with strange smile on his face, a coat of presumed success borrowed from the pains of his efforts in his life, a makeover eye trying to explain million things of his struggle for things which he couldn’t cherish in actual, a stature trying to depict how it could have been dancing in its youth. The flute of my ink got drowned in such painting and it brought a stupid smile on the crusts of my face. I had a draft of complete answers to the versions of my questionnaire, while I started to prepare myself to have an interaction with the soul of such painting.
Came the interaction and I introduced myself as the live soul confused in the packets of gloom and was standing in front of him to get the answers for real version of life, the draft in the painting started with a big laugh that it shook the nodes of my heart and he came live to explain lanes of his anger, that he had with his heart and thought process of his life. It started with the trials of his life that began during infancy and his first fight started the racial system of his looks.
Hardly he grew, was sent to the gallows of play school to understand how he can become a future professional or some society conceptualized job groping person. He hardly had an idea for what purpose he was sent there, as his first state of happiness in his mother’s lap was taken away by the competitive race of play school.
The basic pitch of confusion on his face and mind started from it and it was made sure that he be drowned in such thoughts, like as how can he trample his happiness and make sure his reaches to a position, for which he was three decades away. The track system of his face and brain was further beefed in a circular motion where he was chained in the lawns of spoon fed goals and state of happiness was concluded with the swaps of job goals. His every budding thought was tailored and sewn in the garments of future worry and it plotted the basic foundation of all time gloom on his face.
The branching of such gloom transcended from his parents to him and from him to his relatives. His admission in a royal proposal school gave his relatives nightmares and ultimately the chain reaction passed to his neighbors also. The passage of such gloom in next step got dominated to the election of his career choice which he was updated when the nurse was setting his umbilical cord in proper position.
The gist of his career got attached towards positive conclusion and nullified the previous gloom temporarily and revisited during the raisins of his marriage proposal. The button of his successful pocket made it a curse for him as he wanted a right fit capitalistic model match for him.
The confusions of such capitalistic model of marriage and angles of beautified crust made the pitch of his internal frustration more complex. Here the version of money gives happiness got exposed, as the angle of secondary gloom shrouded his successful career completely.
Post selection of marriage phase the cycle got repeated and he had kids and his life started to revolve round in the lawns through which his parents have trolled for him. Bewitched and came his old age struggling with pains of old account, lifeless, tasteless and waiting for the angel of death to kiss the shroud of his departure. Alas! Came the time and he was draped and posted in the posting of a painting frame, where he couldn’t exist, explain or yell to profess his experience of life liven in the notions of unknown gloom.
What the pages of my ink noted and drafted an analysis, what takes the mind to prefix such gloom on the heart and face, which in actual has no existence. It started to explain the factual information in a step wise manner. What put the gloom in kid, I came across the version of his school model, which processed the formation of sheep race in him and catered a hall of illusionary competition in him.
What was the wish of school that formatted his presentation of mind and imprinted a goal on his mind which never belonged to him? The vase of his upbringing from the temple of his school, made the payment of gloom to get embedded in the codes of his thought and then it traversed into every lateral step of his life. The second step aroused the flute of fake race winning attitude in him and he sacrificed every single second to make non belonging goals of his life come true.
The robes of his life exhausted and his cherish anguished into beds of threshold and finally came the recipient of his old age bill which smiled with the strip tease of his departure. Post departure his imagination choked him, he tried to wake up but couldn’t, he tried to yell but couldn’t, he tried to run but couldn’t. What came to his mind was, for what goals he competed, for what things he got jealous, for what arrogance he trampled others, for what reason he couldn’t sleep, for what food he wasn’t thankful, for what robes he lost his smile.
The conclusion says! Ever met occasions where funerals pass by the lanes of homes and you find surrounding live souls lost in an illusionary gloom, that even the reality of such passerby funerals doesn’t affect them at all.
The virtue of a happy soul ceases to exist when it finds competition with other souls, where one domain has edge over the other and second one has different edge over other. If we club a single position of goal on every soul, then every single soul will be in the heaps of confusion and failures. If every soul shares individual existence and explains that he is beautiful and special in its own code, it would make a refined and well organized happy soul.
In a magnified way, the future should be merged in present and present should be merged for today. The long lasting of a soul is an impossible equation in this world, so if the given existence is utilized in a code of “come what may come clause “then the ruling of own soul with the laws of finding happiness in small things would make this world a beautiful place to exist. When the mind will sync with such thought, it will guide the heart and align it in the cushions of achieved perfection and cheerful face. While leaving the room I wished a serene good bye to my gloomy face and it smiled back with a ratification and the ink of my pages had become dry and suddenly I heard a voice from the flute of my inked words . The music was so serene and live and was congratulating me that I have been transformed into a “come what may come ideological soul.”
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