EMANCIPATION

I write this piece in the name of the pulling force; pulling my soul and body apart with a spell of an undying dream along its course.

To the theories and disciplines that embrace the faults of humanity and deception of our foes; to the friends of my adversary, I want to bring forth this disclaimer close. I’m not perfect either but I am obviously not vulnerable or desperate for your consolation and sympathy.
I am at the threshold of consciousness crawling back to my father’s willful orchestration. Yes, I may be injured, bruised and broken inside.

This mortal coldness of my soul, like death itself, came down on a Sunday morning which seemed to put on, like a Sabbath garment, an atmosphere of divine quietude. The terrible past, though lying afar, flashes ceaselessly in the terrains of my imagination, in the form of a dream left behind in the night. I don’t intend to deviate from my purpose, but such is an indefinite and horrendous chronicle.
Such is a nightmare of my midlife crisis that baffles me. Such; for a true commended saint who would stay up in the dark, watching and listening to the silent sleepiness of the city. With an intense and insatiable hunger for light and truth, dawn has broken, light pierced the curtains of opaque rain on the windows of his blemished soul.

Experience and instinct warred for protection against blame for what he saw; that which led to events taking an unexpected sinister turn. This little independent thread of inquiry ran through the texture of his mind and died away because of the filth in his heart, and his acts of abomination. Tears of outraged vanity gushed forth and blurred his vision; a giant tide of cognitive truth in detail came out into the light to resuscitate life into his blinded and imprisoned insights. There slowly resurfaced a height of rejected dogmas of perception; of the apocalypse taken off from the scriptures. The old books look somewhat pathetically from the shelves, like aged dogs wondering why no one takes them for a walk.
I need a subtle demeanor, to evade every trace of my calvary. These demons came in a nascent spirit of chivalry to take away my visionary endowment, fabricate ideas to deem it an accident or suicidal death.

Blinding these very same eyes which, like stars, have led me; they’ve put my body into a casket of dreadful threats and cast it down the grave of never ending excruciation.
But why? All my dues were paid through Christ’s crucifixion. This thought rushed into my mind, with a stab of tragedy waiting to detonate. But I can surely penetrate beneath the surface to the core; I can go straight, as if by magic, to the inner meaning and take them down face-to-face without giving in. These ideas succeeded each other like a dynasty of kings; this is my life!

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