The dying of the light

"For wise men at their end know dark is right

Because their words had forked no lightning,

They do not go gentle into that good night." 

 - Dylan Thomas

Note: The paintings below are from various artists and I do not hold any rights in this regard.

The Garden of Loneliness

He woke up amidst darkness. It seemed to be a clearing in a forest. The trees flanked the clearing from all sides. They were tall and dense in their leaf cover with a dark green coat. Though he could see (what appeared) as the sky over their towering heads, he could not guess the size of the forest, it appeared to span on for leagues altogether.

There was no sound. There was absolute silence akin to that within a morgue. The trees, the blades of grass, the shrubbery in between - everything was still. Nothing moved. It was cold inside the clearing. Though it did not frighten him or appear to threaten him with horrors, he felt melancholic. There was no familiar fragrance of the forest. Something appeared amiss.

He wondered. Where was he? How did he end up here?

He saw a lady afar. She was walking towards him without any haste. She was convinced that there was nowhere for him to run. Barefoot she walked, pressing the grass with her white feet. She was a fair lady; fair of skin, delicate yet sharp in features, well defined jawbone, piercing black eyes yet slender in frame and graceful in her gait. Long flowing black hair which matched her eyes. She was clad in white. Her face shone with a ghastly brightness. He would have have termed her as exceedingly beautiful. However, she appeared surreal. He could not decide if she was evil though she did not seem to be.

They both stood facing each other. She gazed at him as if penetrating his form with her eyes through a thousand spears as she searched. She smiled at him fully in control of herself. He had not seen such beauty before (nor such majesty as she wielded). But there was a thaw in that smile, something uncanny. 

He asked her, "What is this place? How did I get here? Who are you lady? What is your business here?"

She nodded understandingly as if she had anticipated this. "You are in a garden. I am the lady of this garden. I am known as Loneliness." She replied with a firm voice which matched the coldness of her appearance. "This place is my garden. The Garden of Loneliness. It is impossible to enter this garden except if you have strongly wished to enter it or if you truly deserve to be alone."

He asked her again, "I wish to leave this place at once. Please point me the way towards the exit. I don't know how I ended up here. I cannot remember anything." 

She laughed hoarsely. "Nothing could have brought you here except a true desire to enter my garden. The size of this garden as it appears to you is a direct culmination of your desire. You must have truly desired to enter this garden. I have never beheld such an enormous extent of the forest."

He gazed at her truly perplexed "you mean I created this garden? You call this a garden?"

She replied, "For yourself, yes. You did play a role. The size of the forest, the deafening silence, the absence of any motion or in other words, any hint of life - These bear testimony to the fact that your desire to enter this garden was far beyond normal. There is no way out of this place." 

He stared at her, shocked with disbelief. "Are you for real?" He asked.

"You still don't get it, do you? I am a projection of your own self. I am the projection of your deepest desires which even you do not fathom completely. My form reflects the being which you desired the most. But then if you crave for something (or someone) that strongly, you have to go till the very edge to obtain that object. In the world of humans, this is termed as obsession or in simple words - madness. However, you can only go so far. In your case, you went beyond all realms. Even madness is too light a word to describe the ends to which you went. In your search, you left everyone behind, everything behind. Now you are secured here with me till the end of time. Isn't that which you always wanted?" She solemnly quipped.

"I wanted beauty. I wanted truth. I wanted sincerity. In their absolute terms. I wanted to repel mediocrity, hypocrisy, ignorance. I did not wish for all this." He gasped.

"Now meditate again on what you just said. You will understand that your presence here is not unwarranted for. Your quest would lead a person only to this path alone - to the garden of Loneliness." She smiled.

He stared around him, as if searching for a path - a path which could point him to an exit. She amusingly observed him. "There is no way out. The Sun does not dawn here. The darkness grows with each moment and will slowly, very slowly consume you. I leave you here now. I can't be seen as giving you company and therefore violating the basis of my garden's existence. Enjoy (or endure) your stay here. You have earned it. No one escapes ever the garden of Loneliness. No one dies here. No one lives here." She started moving away.

"Hey. Tell me one thing. Is this real or is it only going on in my head?" He pleaded.

"Ofcourse it is going on in your head. But why should it not be real" She winked and walked off.

The Lady of the Citadel

 He stood on the pinnacle. The horizons spanned without end, revealing nothing but nothingness. The stars prepared to drown into another day of oblivion as the Sun cast its shroud.

He had been forewarned to not climb up the summit. It was a harsh climb, which tested a Man physically but tortured him far more mentally. But he had not looked back. Though he had his moments of frailties and self doubts, he had plodded on. Bruised, tired, parched and hungry yet his face glowed brighter than the child who had started the climb. 

He sat there. There was no applause to commend his ascent. No one would know the heights which he had reached. But he had never looked for recognition. He was lonely. It was his summit. He was its Lord. 

He gaped around in wonder. Was the loneliness his prize? To not die amongst billions of mortals a conventional death, but to die on a pinnacle, his pinnacle.

He beheld a greater peak opposite to his perch. The chasm between them was wide. On the peak stood a Citadel. It was not possible to estimate the scores of centuries which shielded its age. But it would not have been less than the abode of the Gods (or as we know them)

There stood a Lady on its terrace. Tall, serene, wise, noble and sharp. Her face was fair with proud cheeks and fiery black eyes. Her frame was slender and yet she was unperturbed by the gusts of wind which fanned her long locks of flowing dark hair and the first sun rays which touched her skin. She had been born on the Citadel and was its keeper. None bothered her as she was protected by the sheer immensity of the peak on which the Citadel stood.

He had never beheld such beauty (without and within). She was proud but content with herself. Devoid of any guilt of her greatness. He felt himself filled with mirth and admiration as he looked at her. Here was one, untouched and unscarred by Time. The seed of all purity and its beauty, which we mortals seek (though each of us does so with different intensities and honesties) and aspire to achieve in a life, maybe even a hundred. He now was aware of what divinity meant. The prize of his pinnacle! He thanked himself. 

Her gaze fell on him. Nothing could remain hidden from her as her eyes penetrated his form. She saw his handsome frame, his powers, his virtues, his resolve, his grit, his guilts, struggles, fears and pain which he had devoured through his years. She saw his radiance and his puissance as he perched on his pinnacle. A King amongst Men and A Man amongst Kings. At last, a soul had risen to the realm of Gods because he dared and because he deserved.

His gaze met hers. She acknowledged his gaze with her eyes and the subtlest (but conspicuous) of nods. 

A communication took place in a glance which was nothing short of a conversation across eternity.

Amen. Peace. 

An Obituary - To those who run the world

When malice chokes the river of truth,
When despair outcries the song of hope,
When the heavens weep out in agony,
When existence is stifled,
When the earth breathes and drinks fear,
When virtues stand all but exterminated,
When incompetence is worshipped,
When beauty is desecrated,
When honesty is chided,
When honour sells for a dime,
When gods transform into demons,
When protectors turn into molestors,
When creators commit suicide,
When the earth issues the clarion call.

The Lady of Light steps forth.
A jet of light emanates from her brow.

Thin but bright.
Fragile but unyielding.
Frail but proud.
Tender but sturdy.

Amongst the good, are born the heroes, the guardians - the Sons of the Light.

Quiet and grim, Tall and agile, Stern but gentle, Dutiful and diligent, Alchemists and wizards, they feed upon the despair, the falsehood, the malice, the vices, the fear, the poison and perish unsung, unthanked.

The earth is cleansed. The earth forgets.

The Wheel turns. Existence continues.

Period.

His Finest Hour

Dominique Francon.

A Good Man goes to War

How could they be so gross, how could they be so blind,
They humiliated him, they put the Good Man in a bind,
The Desert fumed, the Rivers ran wild,
The Sky tore out and the Universe had its ogres lined,
The Ocean mad, its creatures twined,
The Dementors roared in rapture, they had no mind,
Five Billion of them had risen, they besieged him from the front and hind,
Five Billion of them could not, suppress the glory of mankind.

The Good Man laughed, he knew well their kind,
He was born to wrestle them with his mind,
The universe trembled, when his aura shined,
He set forth with all the will in him enshrined,
He would not lose, all the world's good was at stake behind,
Ten billion years had passed, there were more ahead of him to grind,
His strength was nearly spent, yet there was always some more that he could find
What choice he had with him, He was destined to protect, the glory of mankind.

What horrors had he fought! how much more lay further in time,
What was the price of the thing he protected, he knew well in his mind,
To him had been the fairest of humanity assigned,
He could not dare stop, the best of the world would be maligned,
The light of the star he protected, would in his exhaustion always him remind,
The power of that music, the power of that innocence was too hard to rescind
The deeds of the fallen heroes swelled in his mind, the pride of them combined,
Until the last cell of his body was alive, never would he cede, the glory of mankind.

The Mirror of Erised

They stood on the shores.
A gentle breeze stirred her locks.
The moon shrouded in the clouds gleamed on the waves.
Her face lit up.
Her hands were in his.
His eyes were in hers.
His gaze was serene, calm and jubilant.
He looked towards the skies and nodded his acknowledgement, his gratitude.
In her, he beheld the scale of his triumph, the pinnacle of beauty and virtue, beauty which was perfectly replicated inside her as much as it was on the outside.
In her, he beheld the light which he would never be able to outshine.
She was the priestess, the lady who read him as fluently as if she had been his author.
He smiled. He had finally made it. He had arrived home.