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Simulacra and simulation

- Rupak Dhakal

Aug 15, 2018-

Of all the illusions in life, you are my favourite.

I am thinking only in superficial ways. You could say that I am not really thinking at all. My mind is like a shallow pond, dried up and devoid of life. You and I were like a mirage in this desert of the real—too real for me.

My mind is heavy and I don’t want to think. I feel as if I am rotting away inside and that these ramblings convey my steady decay. Whatever the case, I can feel it like a tar pit in my chest. Ask the bird how it feels to be in that moment just as you unfurl your wings and embark—that moment between taking flight and falling where neither is discernable—that is how I feel. I feel cold. I want love, I need to hear something. Above the clouds, in the sky, underneath the earth, between the trees, on the shores of raging rivers, and atop tall hills, I still feel numb. I mean, there is so much going on all around me but I am impervious to it. I have sleepwalked through history and the fact that I am here and now, as I am, is only a coincidence.

I am the wind, sweeping through time, forever howling—though I am tired and also wish to stop. So drunk I am. My mind spins and I cannot stop—a sick carousel of words, smells, sounds and images—my thoughts.

But if I ever get out of this—my only concern would be—will you ever speak to me?

Was it real or a hallucination? I cannot tell apart my feelings and each evening these mountains turn to mock me. There is no other creature around as vacuous and tormented as I. I know there is more to life and that happiness is somewhere out there—I am just not sure if it is the right thing for me to be happy. I cannot say, where from these emotions. All I can tell for certain is—

There is so much chaos in the head. In a sweet light shining from a long time ago, one person casts a long shadow.

I need to unwind but I can’t when like a tigress leaping across time from the thickets of history, is your memory. My corruption spreads and slips off my tongue like venom. It was like a poisonous fire, that slow burn of a final kiss. But at least, you will remember it. A small consolation? I think not because I won’t forget either—as if I ever could.  

Dhakal is an MBBS student at BPKIHS, Dharan

Published: 15-08-2018 08:36

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