i am spartacus

I led you here, sir,
For I am Spartacus

Alone, all alone nobody, but nobody
can make it out here alone.

Maya Angelou

one of my fav authors

The stars are favorable...

8^th May 2008, Kochi

If only suicide was an option. An easy way out. I could not bring myself to exchanging the agony of living this finite and mortal existence for an eternity in limbo. Neither alive nor dead. Only endless regret with images of my loved ones weeping in my memory and then forgetting me all together as if I never existed. Then, perhaps, remember once in ages. Their tears are too precious. Perhaps, a part of them would die with me. That tiny part of the human soul that makes one smile on a sunny day. And as brightly, too. Their smiles and laughter are more precious. Perhaps, too valuable. But, it was my own doing that put me on the bridge that I dared not cross. Even for my own salvation. Or damnation. Seems relative. Seems the same, almost. Damnation, perhaps to those alive at heart. Mine was shattered. It hurt when I smiled. It has been ages since I smiled as brightly as the sun beams warming up this cold, cold existence. Or felt warm when I smiled.

Perhaps, damned I was the day I saw her and told her, her destiny. The day I said something frivolously that changed someone’s life for the better. And mine for worse. Her tears and her smiles are most precious to me. Those I can not dream to put out. But like all those folk tales of the lovers of yore, my love was damned. Perhaps, I damned it the day I told her to go with someone other than me. Because color of my skin was not as fair as hers. Because her nose was not as crooked as mine. Because her hair were darker. Black as the night without a moon. Because the honor of her 'noble' family would be tarnished to accept me. Because I did not have the courage. I had no courage. I had only dreams in my eyes and words as homage to her beauty.

Silence was all that was between us I drove her back to her house. Proud of the sacrifice I was making for her. Proud that I thought of only what was best for her. A little more proud because she was to become just a number like many others that once I enjoyed. A little coaxing, a little teasing, a little sweet-conversations, a little lust appeased. A little comforting in preparation for the grand finale. And curtains. The act over and ushered in is the new prima donna of the ballet. Then another after another in a senselessly maniacal orgiastic way. Milestones by the road to be read, acknowledged & then forgotten; Perhaps, forgotten until in the company of friends and for the sake of healthy banter. Senselessly. Endlessly.

She was a milestone, then. I thought I could walk away. Or drive away like an errant motorist after hitting a stray dog or a pedestrian or a bicyclist on the roadside. Late in the night. No eye-witnesses. No law to judge. No one to carry the victim to the hospital. Or the morgue.

Dragged through the mud and grime and the gutters, she is still pure. Purer than the purest. Purer than I can ever be. Than I ever was. With a smile so preciously warm; vivifying. And tears that made her the biggest tragedy that could befall any man that ever lived. That could rip his heart out of his still heaving chest as he watches it gasping for more blood and then tremble and stop. There was something sadistically enjoyable in making a woman weep. It was not the first instance when I experienced this desire. But, I could not. I relented. I cursed myself and my pride in damnation. I relented by telling her that, perhaps, we ought to go about it slowly. Gradually recede like the waves from the sands at ebb tide. To make it easier, I told her that her suitor was far richer than I could ever possibly be. "Will he love me? Will he hold me in your arms? Will he caress my hair with your fingers? Will your lips kiss me when he kisses my lips? Will your eyes look at me when he does? When you are a thousand miles away?" Sobs and sighs were between us. Time rescued me for a few moments. A kiss could seal her lips. A man never goes back on his word. Sobs and sighs were between us. Then between peace and me.

She was a milestone. I could have taken that road. Could have fought the world with her at my side. For her honor, for my honor. As I had before. A man never goes back on his word. He never asks for directions. He fights through mud and mire and fire, hail, snow, ice, and deluge. And he comes out unconquered. Unconquered! I felt NOT, sir. Have not felt in eons, it seems.

A man never goes back on his word. But, the terms I relaxed. I called on her again, to see if she was surviving the landmine that I exploded beneath her feet. Something sadistic and venal and vulgar made me do it. Or was it something venial and human and unmanly. She was pleased as always to see me. She had almost forgotten the night before. A bad joke; "A boyish sort of thing!" she told herself and slept peacefully. Unlike I. I jolted her, awoke her to my reality. And tears. Her precious tears began to be wasted on me. My arms brought her no peace. I would not seal those trembling lips. I felt cruel. The most loathsome being that ever lived. Then she stopped. I told her that it was destiny. Our fate was to walk away before it is too late. Not a matter of choice. She threatened me with disgrace. I told her that the world would call her mad, a fool for uttering my foul name. To love me. A friend. A monster. A demon that would not do good unintentionally even. And the vacuous would brand her as the impure. Stained by me. The mask of nobility and humanity, I tore of my hideous face for her. Told her to never even dream or think about me. Told her to erase my memory, my existence from her mind. A nightmare. I told her to think of me as a nightmare. She stared only. And I left her there. Confused, dazed in shock. Bludgeoned with the mace of a reality that seemed to be veiled from her eyes, only. Yet, still breathing. Bleeding but alive. Like a doe gored by the tiger’s sharp fangs but left alone for her young one seemed a much, much more appetizing.

She called the restless, sleepless me after two days. The white flag was waved. A compromise was offered. I accepted it. A man never goes back on his word. She promised to marry the man her parents had chosen for her. I was to be a friend. A confidante. The brotherly sort whose warm hug and shoulder would be there when need be. The kind that takes the sting out of life for free. She giggled before she ended the call. Left me wishing. A man never goes back on his word.

Peaceful. Calm. Happy. I did not feel then, sir. Neither do I now. Perhaps, never may. I have felt a huge gaping chasm in my chest since then. The empty and vacuous sort that seems to never go away. No matter what or how much one eats. Everything goes in but it does not fill up. Perhaps, I was told once by someone that my soul was very deep. Perhaps, all the sorrow, that I have espoused, embraced and adopted, swallows up all that joy, the warm rays of sun in the cold winter days. Like a massive black hole at the centre of a hugely expansive galaxy. Gobbling up worlds and stars. Senselessly. Endlessly. Infinitely. Perhaps, that is why I cannot smile. I laugh at the poorest excuses of a joke from my mates. I find nothing funny in them anymore. Yet, I fake a hearty laugh. I do not want them realizing that I am a humorously anesthetized, sensation less, insensate creature akin to a zombie. I am cold and heartless. Forgive me for being dramatic. In reality, I do have a heart. It beats as many times a minute as any one's does, give or takes a few. It does not feel any more the joy that I used to feel. Blind and dislikeable Cynicism. Mistrust. Suspicion. Faithless Despondence. Callous and calculated words for all. And remorse, sadistic and ceaseless, infinitely haunting, perpetually taunting, like a know-it-all school-mate saying "I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so! I told you so!"

She was a milestone that plunged me in deep and thoughtful remorse. Drowned me in regret. Yet, pulled me out again before the angel came as a savior. Only too, plunge me. Drown me again. And then take me out. And then drown me again. And now she is to wed a man who loves her not. Can love her not. Shall love her not. Will and shall love the wealth of metal-dust and paper she carries in her dowry.

I damned her. She is damned for me. I damned us. Perhaps, suicide is the way out. Waiting for salvation or further horrendous and unforeseeable degrees of damnation, I poison my breath. I poison my food. I poison my water. Poison my mind. With what my mates create for me. Perhaps, my gradual passing from health to sickness to eventual liberation will make it less hard on them. Sort of prep them. This slow wasting death is far more painful than a quick and sudden coup de grâce. All said and done in one go. No time to look back. No time to think ahead. No undoing the done. Just a classical rebel-without-a-cause ending. Perhaps suicide is the only way out. A man never goes back on his word. I gave my word that I would not explode or spontaneously combust. Perhaps, I can slowly let myself turn inward. Then let my personality implode upon myself. And go out forever.

The stars are favorable.

she......

She is my best friend and every minute I spend with her is beautiful, absolutely perfect. I talk forever and before I know, hours pass, I have all these cute little moments and jokes that no one else ever gets, I argue with her over the silliest things and they make me smile every time I think about them...

I hate admitting it, but I’m in love...
and nothing can happen... because I can never "fuck up my friendship"
but I know that there can never be another like her

she is definitely The One
and though I might have moved on, inside me, I know that in the true sense of the word, neither of us will ever really "move on"... ♥♥♥