Game Of Wits

Been so many eons. So many roles. So many stages. So many masks. So many lights and so many darknesses. Indoctrinated to pick the bag up and keep moving. Walking past thirsty streams. The fragile unheard mountains that seem so insufficient to tell tales. The entranced nightingales in the jungle that beckon to you to hear the song resonating in your blood. The lost blue skies that challenge your limits. And we keep doing it. All of us. All of it. Winter after winter. Night after night. Without knowing why we do it and many times even how we do it. Surprising others and astonishing ourselves of the lifeless lives we live. Every breath, every heart beat. Inching us closer to the abyss we circumvent. The harder we endeavour to run away from the void, the closer we seem to get.

The streams fail to quench our thirst but often reflect our images. The broken pieces of our picture. The lost parts of our machine. Tempt us to gaze at the reflection one more time, everytime. And everytime we do that entice us to touch it, feel it, talk to it. Ask where it has been wandering all this time? Did it never feel the need to need us? Will it stay with us forever now?

Again we make the mistake we have been committing through this arduous journey. Mistake of wanting to talk to it. Mistake of wanting to meet it. Mistake of wanting to hear it. Mistake of wanting to read it. But this time not repeating one mistake. Of holding it back. Of trying to possess it. Of trying to tie it down. Though unseen strings seem to be stronger than any visible to the human eye.

Why is it so difficult to accept that all are flickering the same flame of one sun. exuding the same milk-fragrance of one mother, exhibiting the same energies of the one cosmos, same undying search for something we don’t know, all waiting for that magician to cast its spell and dazzle us. That tussle of few restraining others and yet some more few trying to release ourselves of all bonds fearing that such threads will cripple us. But do such yarns weaken us? Don’t they prove to be a source of infinite strength?

It’s all a ‘Game of wits’. A game where misconceptions, deceit, lies, stabbing are found in plethora. But then that’s where a King is sifted from the Nobles. Because only a King, a Warrior of the light is gifted with a third eye to differentiate a fox from a Horse.

A Warrior knows that a real Horse will never suffocate her own reflection. Will set it free for she knows that setting it free will free her as well. Seeing her reflection reach higher planes makes her experience quintessential peace and serenity, not an easy task to accomplish by all means. And that unburdens her of the debts of this journey. Attracting the pieces of her soul back to her. Forever…