The Secret of Creation

We have been made to believe that life is a story of survival, a game of living in the arena of torn and shadow. Days of several surroundings, strangers walking and taking glances to an unideological struggle. This is how we live; this is how we consider the gift of “Creation”. Stepping to nights and days; making noises to collect the memories which would die in the infinite shallow of stupidity. People can see the lights for freedom but vague about the reality of the abandoned world.

We have been taught that lights can only be found in the philosophy of faith so that reprobates of religion should be thrown in the heart of prayers. But let me share a little story on how everything in this world was created:

“There was a ‘powerful’ foolish guy who went out of his cosmic dwelling and orbit around. He liked the blue most and spat life to it. Then after that he named himself as the god of all creations.”

It is a choice whether to believe in Miracle and Ignorance or believe in Intelligence and millions of reasoning, understanding, and comprehension. We are a jet of unpredictability, a piece of universe fighting to win a hopeless war.

Believe that there are assurances in doubting; believe that forlorn can be the meaning of true happiness, and life without science is blind. Be certain to all uncertainties and from there, become alive.

To Fall or Not to Fall

     I started writing when I think I fall for you. Your distance five feet away from me makes my body shiver like there’s nothing I can do. The way you smile, the way you fix your hair when you think your head is sweating, the way you pout your lips when you are irate, and the way you laugh when everything seems perfect.

Let me tell you a story of “a broken that broke a broken”. Once, there was a broken came out of a cosmic dwelling nook, the broken tried to cry but only broke the eye of the unbroken surroundings. Broken was calm, but bleeding inside, a place where only an unknown god can see. Broken smiled, broken laughed, but broken never happened to be unbroken. One sunny night, where lights can see the wind and wind can see the sky, a skeptic man walked in sight, trying to figure out the hows and whys of life. Broken forgot the broken life and created its meaning for the skeptic man. Life was a tremendous sheer demean pleasure, until the day that broken broke the broke of the skeptic man’s unbroken broke and broken became only a particle of their unbroken love.

     I started believing when I think I fall for you. Your optimistic pessimist approach makes me wonder what kind of man you are. The world will never think about you, the world will never remember your queues. But how far is good to evil, how possible god uses a veil and how idiocy can cover the natural bureaucracy.

Let me share you a poem that has a thousand meaning and view.

“The Poem Traveler”

You and;

Me

Forever…

Shall I go to an undefined peace or merely to a place of narrowness and foolishness?

An article for “The boat of the Sailor”

Forgotten

What you know about me, you don’t.
What you learned from me, I learned from not knowing myself.
I am the dystopic version of education.
I am the randomness of the world.
I am imperfect and my worldview is oversimplified.
I am a myth. My existence is a work of the mind and a work of art. I am a necessary
creation of history.
But on the morrow everything about me will be refuted.
And everything about me shall die.
Forgotten.

Aleph Alpha Naught Naught One!