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The Life’s Paradox

January 10, 2009 12 comments

93fantasy-3d-03-m343He took the pen with bright hope that life, with its complexities, moves the self to progress and urges the mind to desire for improvement. He wrote his first amendment then pondered on it. Yet no matter how he configures his life, along with the things that should be done correctly, would eventually revolve back to the axis of its past ; and he could never escape the angst of breaching his new promises, that,  with its tendencies, may lead to his doom – a state of despondency and self expatriation. But still, he thought life must go on, not for attaining perfection, but for denying the mistakes of the past by creating resolutions to believe that the phantom of the past can be resolved by the angel of the present who eradicates the scars of  mortal heart and bathes life anew. And while looking at what he wrote, his body shivered in terror and he shed the tears of bitterness in believing in ideas that betray the genuine concept of human agony along with the cognizance of the ego that perpetually stirs in the pit of human composition; and to which with all ambiguity, constantly reminds him that sooner or later, life with its new temporal form, by principle or by common consciousness, would be revived back again to its evil arche. Realizing that he could no longer go on writing, he gathered what he wrote, crumpled the paper in his hand, wringing the pain which he felt in his palm. The text he started to scribble were just mere ink dots now, staining the clean paper sheet and proving no less than a sheer shadow of false hope that everyone deemed to salvage life from wickedness to sainthood. He broke down with regrets for living another year because it means another year of anguish: that his life is another step closer to the end. And yes, did he think how his life was infested with malaise as parasites enjoy the glory of eternal elixir of blood. He felt suffocated by his abject mind that drowns him stupor, yet he fought back and clutched to his senses as he stood up laughing with no other sensible reason but oblivion from any hope. Then his breathing was no longer that that sustains life but that the gasping of desperation for death. Even when his heart told him to go on to find the brightness of the day, his brain on the other limb, simulated an impact to paint his logic a tinge of darkness thus proving there is no sense of finding the sun for the world revolves in perfect bi-polarity; anything that has light would coherently succumb to the emerging darkness. So he stepped down to the abyss of his room, now clutching the devil’s blade; and with no clear vision of his steps, alas, he told himself as he continuously descended down to the darkness: “We are all going to die anyway.”

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