A spirit wandering in the woods; in search for something; it is probably thirsty and might be hunting in utter desperation for a sip of water; or it is in pursuit for fulfilling its own desires – the one that it couldn’t cram into its bag of accomplishments and achievements while that spirit had life in itself. It might be clearing off the crumbs that life had left after it had its meal and forgot to wipe off the dirt it dropped on its way; or probably making up for all of its curses it spread to the envelope of populace around it while it had life breathing in itself.
Whatever be the cause for that one probable portion of life to still be stuck on this earth instead of knocking on heaven’s door is perhaps, the want to justify it’s craves.
As for all movie buffs, if the preceding statements seemed to be an extract out of the reviews for Karz or OSO, well, they aren’t.
So what do we really run in for when we encounter “What’s life?” Everyday, in every second, there is a bit of grieve hiding somewhere; some find it a cakewalk to get it out of the envelope and fix things accordingly; the rest that probably are not good enough to have the strength reigning in their blood, the ones that cannot flesh their yearnings out, and never hold the nerve to deal with it. Sequentially the entire procedure of what we call as “life” turns into an obnoxious, a complete intolerable pile of filth. The core denies letting out everything, and in the course of the reluctances towards not wanting to spin out what the heart screams out for, a lot is made to be trapped – and the count is just not limited to desires or greed; amid everything, a lot other portions cause the itch – exasperation, infuriation, angst.
It is not specifically what your spirit longs for after the blood in your veins stops flowing, but all that one has been hankering over during the inhibitions struck over him.
Wondering what’s next? The plague of those inflictions doesn’t really seem to click on the annihilation this early. It begins knocking you around, reiterating it with a scorched volume with every graduation in time. The petite desire that encapsulates your apparent greed in no time runs into insanity; until it makes you numb, unloved – and finally after the arms have been laid down and the battle almost defeated, you know it is the time to invade the planet of “losers”; that strips you off your own life with every degree; the menacing pain piercing through all inhibitions.
And amid all this, there is a definite hunt for that one soul to pull you back from that trauma, to sell solace under its shelter. But once again, the exasperation and the rage (and this where the anger finds its presence) makes your company unbearable, excruciating and agonizing. And the ultimate spell of repercussions (probably) is seclusion, because no one can take on “any more shit” of yours.
Desperation and anxiety service for the next lot of occurrences; before realizations flow in, you’ve chased yourself till the extremity – completely forbidding the recognitions towards your own breath and your own soul. A perfect (and nonsensical) assortment of regressions injected in the slices of desperation fuels to the injury – “I should’ve done that, I should’ve been in my senses”, and before you purchase the dominance over time, its time that chips in its control over you; and then, it’s a useless “I should’ve done that, I should’ve been in my senses”.
A hysterical combat lost marginally because of the lady luck denying to marry off the support you’ve been screaming for, and the rest of the fraction contributed by YOU perhaps; the tiredness, the exhaustion, the apparent giving up is however what flows through the veins, yet the soul still breathes out fire – counting for the disgust and the evident humiliation.
At the sinking line, (just to wrap it up), it sparked off with a miniscule (and a granular) desire, and turned up to be a humongous drama. Fair?