I wake up and don't look back to yesterdays.
A Mind infused with insecurities and difficulties. A long and painful demise of a Yellow Star, prime in its life. Although my mind often plays tricks on me, I never give in to them. Always finding the truth distinct from unreal conclusions. Light seem to deprive me of itself lately, I see shadows of a young carefree boy whenever I take a turn in the opposite direction, which I often do. My World is as expansive as the Universe itself, I might have so many people who would say 'Yes' to my questions but none really mean it.
One Day, I conjure up an Idea. The simplest of ideas. I told myself I could pass, whatever comes. I start slowly, often looking back, trying to retrace my 'experiment' - It was a success, I had the control over myself. As I grew confident of the results of this experiment, the 'retracing' exercise was eventually abandoned. It was a wonderful feeling, I felt my existence actually made a difference. The Days were brighter, the longing nights got shorter. I grew more confident. So confident that I forgot this was an experiment in the first place. The Idea, the simple idea took hold of me slowly. As the things began to change, the conditions for the experiments also changed rapidly, there was no longer the suitable environment. But, with the original knowledge of Reality lost in the Idea, it became impossible for me to go back.
I tried everything, in my reach to get rid of the Idea, but it was too late, the Idea and Reality had now merged, no longer distinct from each other. The origin of Idea was never traced, so never could I get the blame on anything except myself. The Voice from an indistinct yet different past screams at me for my stupidity.
There, walking in the Shadows, is me, in a parallel word. He is the most empathetic towards me, he knows what I have been through and understand what other fail to. He puts a hand on my shoulder and says "Keep Living the Dream - As long as you can wake up from it" There is pain in the eyes of this new man, compassion and a desire to be loved. His hands tremble from the weight of his own burden, the burden I won't help him with even as he begs me to help him in carrying it to the other side. He then starts to cry but finally laughs.
I see the joke now, the laugh comes from my own mouth, those tears still fresh on my cheeks. My hands trembling from their own weight,  the lips silently murmuring the cry for help. All this time I was looking in the mirror of reality, making promises to myself, offering wisdom to myself.
I see smoky figments, they say we will help you but only if you play their own game, a maliciously designed un-winnable scenario. I trade my soul for the gamble of making the game easier. I lose, lose everything but this mind. They leave my mind behind, they know I will eventually start torturing myself with it - because they know, my mind is infected with the Idea.

Back from the Hell. ©2011 Aman Gupta

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