TO LOVE : the journey continues...

Section 6. My Last Letter to Mayaa...

Projecting love wrongly.

A delinquency done.

I never knew how to love.

The Blue of the depth, we thought our love had

And the Green of longeveity,

Mayaa,

Are fast losing their colours...

And the moonbeam now wavers

Only as a figment of my naive imagination.

"What might be a joke for you might be an object of utmost seriousness..."

My heavy eyes

Drop a few silent tears on your breasts..

My tired head resting on your bosom;

..My heart dissected

With the scissors of logical categorisations..

Can you hear me, Mayaa? ..Tell me. ..Where do I go now?

Love was always a joke to us, wasn't it Mayaa?
We laughed together. We cried together. We rested in each others' cool shadows when Time halted for a few moments, in its fast journey, by mistake..


This series was not an insult towards Love. It was just a trial to crack down the devil scientifically.
May be, there are two ways to view this world. Emotionally and scientifically. With your warm heart. With your analizing mind.

The Heart tends to integrate. The Mind wants to disintegrate.

A photographer knows that when the angle of a shot is changed, it doesn't change the object itself...

And it's not that the person who cares to take a picture from an odd angle doesn't know how to take it straight...

Love.

Was always a joke to me, yes!

A Black Humour.

..Which has always taught me....

that, ..it's all a matter of coming and going in this world, and attaching so much unnecessary importance to the days in between.

We are all going to perish one day. Why try to 'explain' an 'emotion' then? And what harm is to try and 'explain' an 'emotion' then? Everything is so impermanent. And hence, so insignificant.

Impermanent are we.

And hence, imperfect.

The Orange morning sky makes to us a promise. Onto which we cling so dearly.

Till,

The imperfect soil

Makes us understand

That it's just another of a stupid life

We look to live...

What is love other than a few hormonal secretions? What else is the heart other than a stupid, monotonous machine that continues to pump blood in and out of our lives, without any valid reasons...

Love rendered insignificant? In our hearts, does the quest ever end?

And it's just this 'practical' part that I had tried to break and peep into...
Just may be to find, that can a scientific explanation help us reduce the infinite pain we get? ..May be, just on a trial to find some answers that the heart itself has always cared us not to give.

You know, the minds had always tried to insult. And more so when it's an emotion under their scanner. Only a few experiments it observes and draws a few conclusions -- which are never right!

Science is never right.

It only models.

And modelling is, perhaps, the only way to simplify..

And there are always new, subsequent theories coming up to 'explain' wherever the previous ones go inadequate.
Quantum mechanics came like that. Einstein's 'velocity correction' of Newton was nothing but that.
Century old theories, ..Classical mechanics, Newton's laws -- thought to be correct!

"The centre of my own Universe

Am I,

Creating enchanting dreamworlds..."

"To broaden my horizon

And to take others' views in...?"

Yes. That's how Images are transformed to Reality. The Magic Realism originating from our fallibility expands to form the Ultimate Vision...

But how could such heavenly light be created, if other fellow modellers do not join in?

Many will fail. I failed. And now I know "at least one way in which I cannot make a bulb."

And someday, someway

Wouldn't an Edison care to come up to mend my broken bulb?

Would ever Love's Logic and Emotion be confluenced to take the flow path of Philosophy?

Why not start now...? Why not let us try...? ..Because each one of us holds some unrevealed stories to tell.

"Can you tell what another person is thinking? You can only assume."
: ) : ) It's only this that quantifications are always tried to be made universal.

But I forget that I had ended up with a broken bulb!

I forget that even in today's world, poets refuse to be scientists! ..Even for just a while!

May be, it's too much of a wastage of energy that I had asked from them, Mayaa...

If only repititive art-pieces could save our Love... and on 'practical' grounds...!

And all this while, what I will be left with is a few shattered pieces of my brainchild, that will always care to remind me that I didn't know how to love...

If you only could forgive me, Mayaa..!