sigh ..

I read it. The wind had brought that whisper to me. A sigh, an utterance - a breath of rememberance that has travelled through this space, crept this web of cosmos; flown through time and then sat behind the bars in the window pane.
It is the rose that has bloomed somwhere outside my prison, which I cannot see, but somtimes in the night its fragrance makes me restless. I have read it again and again. The words are simple, and the message is short. There is a storm in me however, that has brewed since forever, and now your words have blown away my shelter from this storm in me. Soon it will start hailing and I have no where to take refuge.

"The day I died" or "The day I died?"

It was a warm summer day when I was shot. I was shot to death by loud bang of an unseen gun. I had never heared that sound before. The loud roar was as strange to me as an english muffin in Timbuktu. The bang heared was loud and perhaps was heared late. I felt my temples sweat - temples, forehead, and the back side of the neck. It was reminiscent of the nap that I took just after lunch. So now you know I was shot after lunch. I was shot with a full stomach. I know you are thinking that I am not a rebel then, perhaps. I was definitely not protesting poverty, or prison, or I wasnt even on a hunger strike. I was shot in summer. I was shot when tulips were in full bloom, somewhere. If you know me enough, you know that I have no interest in gardening, and I definitly do not know the seasonal flowers. The moving tragedy of me being shot is powerful enough to make me Quixotic. My death reminded of Tulips, so. I could have thought of roses, but roses are too alive to be thought of after being shot. I was shot and I was running out of time. I had a little time left to reflect on my life ; the things that I did - good and bad.
I was shot and it was the first time I was ever shot. My dear readers, I assume you are active members of the society and you know the moral dilema of doing something the first time. There is a huge pressure on your shoulders to do it right. I hadnt had a chance to witness a shooting before, but I had seen deaths on stage. As you may well imagine my dilema. I was supposed to say something before I die. Something meaningful. But I couldnt think of anything that would make a sense. It was like my reality was covered with a layer of white noise. Yes the exact noise that you see on the television when the antena is not plugged in. In order to say something, I had to focus to come articulate, which I couldnt do. Just imagine the dilema - a person shot with a bang by an unseen gun, who doesnt know how to die. So instead of reflecting on my life, I started searching for a mortal flaw in myself which had led to such a tragic ending. I thought, if I'd find one, I'll die like Lear. Alas, it is true that death confiscates any sense of rational reasoning.
I was about to faint when I realized that now I know the answers to all the questions about life and the unknown questions in the life. I found out why I felt the infringes of love, and the tickles of haterd for somebody, and I found out why I never ever liked Oakra, and why I walked away that day after I said what I said, which I never figured out why I said. I even found out the meaning of those tears that fell from those eyes, and those other eyes and the aligator's grudge against fish and the tears of aligator, and the apple that fell on the head while I sat under the tree, and I never sat under that tree - wait a minute! Is it that I now had the answers to all the questions ever asked by any person ever? Or was it my failing senses and now only sporadically firing neurons in the brain? I opened my eyes with a jerk that I felt but my body never felt.
I was shot by a loud bang, by a gun I have never seen. Was it the gun or the bang that killed me? I wish I could figure out its always the bullet that kills, and not the bang. It was too late already.

Je sais que, comme les autres, tu ne resteras pas
Je sais que, toi aussi, tu partiras
Mais quand même cette fois
J’espère
C’est pourquoi j’ai gardé au fond de mon cœur une lueur d’espoir
En ton honneur
Car il y a déjà longtemps que je monte
Vers le haut des murs du malheur
Que je tombe, je tombe en essayant d’aspirer le bonheur
Celui que j’ai laissé trop souvent
Celui que j’ai brûlé de mes 20 ans
En me disant, comme un pauvre imbécile :
« Demain, je serai bien plus heureux demain »

Et je donne des noms au Soleil, à la Lune
En espérant que demain plaisirs dénudés,
Regards frissonnants reviendront pour m’habiter
Pour alléger la lourdeur des jours à traîner
Et je danse, je danse sur les mêmes rythmes barbares
Et je pleure, je pleure en m’assurant qu’il est déjà trop tard
Trop tard pour le bonheur éternel
Trop tard pour le grand pays des merveilles
En me répétant, comme un pauvre imbécile :
« Demain, je serai bien plus heureux ».

This anxiety is killing me. I am counting days, and only 34 are left before I graduate.
I am afraid.

"Etherized upon a table"

There is no darkside of the moon really.As a matter of fact, its all dark.