A point of time that bridges life and death – illusion versus infinity for some, while existence versus nothingness to others. It’s that point when one is neither alive nor dead – neither willing to submit nor to hold on; when the heights of the colossus called hope has been shattered, the breadths of existence has been condemned, and the widths of eternity has been compressed. It’s that point which lasts for a fragment of a second, when the grandeur of mortality has defied the limits of a creature and redefined its strength, when one knowing that he’s leaving then takes one last glimpse at the living.
For a man is created of soil, he must dissolve into soil. A humid layer of skin will eventually turn into dust, that blows along the winds, flowing onto the face of the pregnant lady in rural Karnali, who due to the social customs has been abandoned to a cow-shed. She is just enthralled of the forthcoming boon God has gifted in her husband’s family; a cycle of existence and disappearance. The dust flies on, irrespective of the soul’s position that has caressed the beyond, void to the earthly conscience.
The death would be too glorious to conquer. The angel of death, grim reaper or ‘yama duta’, then triumphing the conquest. Karma would be a bitter tale. The afflicting fascination then ventures into the imminent predictions. Infinity or nothingness? Persistence or inexistence? Heaven or Hell? For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written.
Sarcastic Existence 