Luminescient

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Luminescient

Location: New Delhi, India

Member Since: January 2013

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It has always been a confounding experience to have to write about myself, oddly unreal, and I often shy away from the prospect of composing myself in words. I, however, believe that much information is gleamed from what someone speaks about rather than what he speaks and therefore it would be more revealing by talking about what I think, in the stead of talking about myself. And of course, I wouldn't talk a lot either in case someone clever enough manages to disintegrate my personal space and proves to the world that I'm just another hypocrite talking about the magic of existence through his high end laptop. Also, I don't see what good my credentials would do here because I do not wish to be judged- only understood.

My moods are whimsical and like the wispy tendrils of smoke- ever malignant. I often do not conform to what I believe in, possibly because I believe in everything- and nothing. There ensues a lot of indirection and indecision when confronted with an infinite choices, and here is a short poem on how I often feel, I put it here in the hope that I have fulfilled what this section has demanded of me:

Within the void that populates his head, a flurry of words- Words that bear no context and no connection, but words, And these words he looks at, and he sees sense and harmony, And to this world of music, he lends a voice and emerges- He lives in a world of instability and chaos and It somehow makes sense at that moment, That moment he lives and it is his own- his creation, He wonders if it's an angel or a monster And whether it's himself that he looks at, For this world is a whim- a fantasy of his making, And he exists inside this reality and the reality inside him, He looks at what he is about to speak and these words He looks at are the same words he has always seen, But different- Somehow different. This land of letters is a mist and he can't look through it, He can only look at it and understand it, Sometimes it's dark and he sees nothing, but lives In the hope of a vision that would explain his existence, The hope of a purpose and a meaning- a reason, And the words tumble down in a pleasant drizzle, He can catch one with his hands if he so wishes To look at it and understand it, But when he holds it within his fists- he struggles, He struggles to not let it go, not yet, But the word changes and it's not the same anymore, It's too loud and doesn't want to be heard, Somewhere else there's another word That might be tamed and is willing to be looked at, And he sails in the ocean that could lead him anywhere To look for the one that would take him, Accept his hands as a shelter, even temporary, But it's morning now and there's a new sun To dazzle his eyes and he forgets his bearing, He can't hear the calling, It's chaos now and he takes it all in, It makes a new world and a new vision. The ship rocks for a moment but is now settled, It has passed through the stormiest weather, It has passed through the rockiest waters, It has passed through the most devious rapids but Always it settles and there is a new day to look at, The memories of the past are sometimes comforting, Sometimes the winds of chaos leave a mark of terror, But his ship offers the accommodation of understanding And it accepts what is offered, Sometimes the words are acid and they burn it at places, And at times they mend the wounds they inflicted, But the ship is always standing and the ship is ever sailing, And as he stands beside the helm, the sun flashing at him, He smiles a pleasant smile and looks at the horizon, Because he knows that the worlds are endless- And with them come endless possibilities.

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