I wonder if life will implode one day,
And I will find myself lost in a forest,
or firmly placed,
in a garden of iridescent skies.

In this trance of realisation,
I will a supernova,
For we have been nascent,
(Or is morbid more befitting?)
Long enough!

Set in motion,
an attack of experience,
So if death was to come or not,
It would all be the same.

They were dark times. With everything I did, I was more and more hesitant. Unsure of myself and of all that around me. In conundrums, and strangled with confusion.  Wary of the past, and unaware of the future.

There was so much I had left behind, a myriad of my happiest memories. Only to now be surrounded by thickets of black. And as I curled up around it (the black) , lungs corrupted and eyes sore, it took a turn. And lo, it wrapped itself around me.

I was, at first surprised. At the comfort this monster bestowed upon me. For it was beyond my comprehension, it’s will to parent me. Only as I let out my first cry, did it all become clear. What had seemed as protection, transformed into an awesome attack. It gnawed into me, strengthening itself at every scream.

Amongst heavy cries, I struggled to find my breadth. I was victim to bouts of unrestricted rage. Clenched fists, furious stares.  It devoured my every moment of weakness.

 It took a while for me to figure out that I was the fuel to its fire. With this realization however, I quieted down.  And it, in return was kind enough to let go and return to its former state as the selfless provider.

Hello? Are you out there? I don't feel you. I don't hear you, I don't see you. So how do I know? You're that tingling at the end of my fingers, the tingle that knows magic. You're the rage in my clenched fists. You're the warmth of my embrace. At least you were. 

Of all the things I've lost, I have lost you the most. Hi. Let's start over. I'm sorry, okay? Perhaps I came on strong before. Now I breathe, unhurried. Clenched fists open up, and now I am. I am..

I am a body. I have emotions. I can think. But do you know what? Fuck this. All I want to do is jump on you and hold your head and stare into your eyes. The angry stare. And then scream like a mad man. And then laugh. And put this all behind us. And, and. 

Or maybe I want to watch you, crinkle up your nose and make a stupid face. And then I want to hold your hand. Walk with you down that road, take a left, stop you from crossing the road. And stop that car that hit you. So we could have taken that other left, and been lost in each other.

Why are we not moving any more?

On this road,
I'm without reason for pace or morbidity,
For the end of all is ubiquitous.

I stare upon the soil,
Which may be my friend,
And will it to partner with the wind,
And so, live on.

In awesome form,
For what good is life,
If it is masked in fear,
Inhibitions and etcetera?

Stop for the rose,
before it is swallowed by
The monster
Which is death.

I find a wall, painted black.  And buried within these five hundred shades,  a yellow.  So, if I asked, could you imagine? Could you imagine my amazement, as I speculated upon this yellow?

Of the thousand eyes that have stood here. I wonder if they too, knew this yellow?  Or is it my secret? And lo, amazement once more!  A yellow, for me to see, and mine to keep!

Maybe you are amused by the size of this yellow. It is miniscule of course, a mere spec upon a massive structure. But may I, if you let me, just say. It is the sole warmth on so many seasons of winter.

I could drown myself in black, and find myself gasping for breath on the surface of this yellow. I wish to wander deeper into it. And as I go, will I find a reason for this contrast in colour? Is there a wonderland beneath the surface and the yellow, its invitation?

I have, over the past month frequented this wall. Not much has changed. It is as uninviting as it was yesterday. Just as harsh, just as cold. But to me, there are, upon five hundred yellows, a black.

For beyond the surface, I found you.

A summer romance, under the oak. The sun cuts through the leaves, finding it's way down. Trickling onto the tips of my hair, down my arm to the top of my fingers. Caressing me like a first love, cajoling me into happiness. Iram.

An hour? Damn, that monster of yours knows how to run. Our heads turn to the rover parked out front. Men and your toys, she says. I swear to god, that thing in between your legs and your cars. I forget what she says after that. Shy, timind, Iram. Her reference takes me by surprise.

She, with her tied back hair. Her big round eyes that eat me up. Her eyes and ears and knees and toes. Oh, head, knees and toes, knees and toes! And so once again, I flex the muscle within, ready it for another pounding and plunge back in to it. Right back into love.

And all is swell, all is sweet. There are pancakes for breakfast, walks on the beach. On rainy days, there's coffee by the window. Games of scrabble, games in bed. Books are torn through. And now I sleep, and now I wake. Dum di da dum, let's have those banana pancakes. Dum di dum, mhm, hmmm, ha! Irr, ir, irr, irru, ram pam, iram.

And, then: Breakfast is a quiet affair. Toast and tea. Accompanied by a side of screeching silence, broken only momentarily by could you pass the sugar? Or the butter. Or the knife, I'd like to cut open my veins and be done with it. IRAM!

A vase is broken, flying objects dodged. Iram, my partner in love, my happiness under the oak. Goodbye.

I wish I had facial hair. And I could not shave for a week, and the world would know that something was amiss. The hair on my chin would scream a million words. My crinkled, two button missing shirt, my stained trousers, the stench of caffeine trailing behind me. It's a wonder how far I'd be willing to go. Only to mask the monotony of my life with the bristles of unkemptness. And won't it be beautiful then? All the stares I will invite, the hushes and shushes.

 I sit alone, forcing myself through lunch. Grasping onto a mount of rice, only to crumble each grain. I sit on the bench, trampling on the ants that scurry below me. And I lie in my bed, running the tips of my fingers, across the length of my neck, feeling desperately. Surely there is enough to give away how run down  I feel. This could take a lifetime. I'm miserable, help me. Can I paint that across my forehead? In red. And I'll do it everyday, until someone takes notice. Or till I'm no longer miserable. Whichever is to happen first.

There are planets between the person I was, and have become. Circumstances have hardened me. A beard as long as any man's, adorns the contours of my jaws, running down well into my chest. I'm pleased you think it's something to do with my religion. It always was very foreign to you, wan't it? I'm glad you find it sexy. I'm sorry it get's in the way of our kisses and for the attention it invites.

 I work my way through a sandwich I wasn't hungry for. And I feel so happy, that my lack of appetite is only the result of the heavy breakfast we shared. I smile as I think about what you had said earlier. I would give away the world, to know what you hide under the hairs of your chin, you had managed to mumble as you gobbled on pancakes and maple syrup. I'm excited to show you, I had replied.

Wonders within me.

A world turns on the tip of my finger, and then. It all comes down crashing down, onto my feet, breaking my toes, crippling my soul. Leaves rustle, wings flutter. Momentary chaos to my cry, a prelude to a perennial silence.

Head's bob out of sunroofs, smoke blows, inhale, exhale. The wind rushes past, hair transformed into a myriad sculptures. Screams of ecstasy, hushed to terrified whispers. Lost control, crash and burn. And with that, worlds tumble from fingers to feet.

And what is left? Pointing fingers, where once the world stood. Reduced now, to simple accusations. Tongues are woken from sleep, curses flow freely. It was your fault, say's the finger wagging furiously now.
If only you hadn't.

All that has happened, is all I have wanted. Relations buried, a family distanced. I've set myself free from the shackles that put me down. And yet, now it seems like it is what held me together. I'm uncertain whether to go back or to go on.

A turmoil of emotions tear me. What of the wonders within me now, I wonder.

I am unbelievably flustered, irritated almost. And as all such emotions heighten within me, questions erupt. Blasted into the dormancy of my brain, they rattle me. I find myself lurking within the nooks and crannies of the finite amount of gray matter I posses. Trying to find answers to perhaps the most complex questions to have ever been put to man.

Q1)  What am I doing with my life?

Hey, that one's easy! I'm studying engineering. 

Q2) Why?

Because I'll have to work when I'm older right. I'll have to earn, support my family. Duh.

Q3) And then?

I'll earn and live happily ever after!

Q4) So, what's the point of it all?

What does that even mean? 

I feel troubled once my answers transform to counter-questions. I feel stranded, unfamiliar. Lost, almost. Seriously, what does that even mean? What does it all mean? This incessant noise about achievement, about success, about being great, being happy, being this, being that. I find refuge in a poem I came across a few years ago.

Now we will count till twelve,
and we will all keep still,
For once on the face of this earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

I wonder if it is sane to find yourself consumed so wholly in conflict, as myself. To be constantly nagged by uncertainty. As I turn twenty, a crisis gestates, fuelled by the dormancy of my life. I find myself often questioning the principles that make this world go around. 

This incessant exchange of money angers me. Why am I putting myself through 4 years of college, far from the people I love the most? Sure, to win some you have to lose some. What will I win though? Ultimately what's it all going to lead to?

Nostrils flare, eyes water. I am furious. I want to live in the wild. Now we will count till twelve, and we will all keep still. For fuck's sake, shut up and keep still.

 I walked so much today. Sneaked out, took a deep breath and just walked around. It was nice. Not amazing, not wonderful. Nothing over the top or profound. It was just a walk, down a near empty road. I don't remember what I thought about. Or if I thought about anything at all?

Maybe I thought about them. Maybe I thought about her? Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I concocted in my head an idea? A spark fuelled into fire by enormous supplies of oxygen around me. I don't remember. I think I remained inert for the most part.

I feel sleepy now, I won't be able to complete this today. Is there anything more to tell? It was just a walk. I don't know. I've been sleeping a lot recently. I hope I remember to wake up tomorrow. I would hate to forget. Must put a sticky note on my headboard!

I feel your hunger, love. I'm sure they'd approve. For who are they, those insignificant dregs of the upper echelons?  And us? What of us? Love, is it not enough? Am I not enough? Surely, certainly. Acquiesce, love. And with acceptance, strip forever this stubborn shadow of doubt. Which has hung over the beast of us. And grown, parasitically.

These fleeting glimpses of passion, these minuscule moments of ecstasy have proved insufficient. I can longer let us be contained. Here, a jack in a box. Let us take the world by surprise. Men who have sinned are troubled. Their conscience eats them whole. And yet, a man who has only loved? This is no sin. Surely, certainly.

They refuse, you say? I ask again, who are they, those insignificant? If you deem me worthy of your body, who are they, those insignificant, to decide otherwise? What vulgar joy is derived from this enforced confinement. 

Ignorance has robbed my sanity. Ignorance of boundaries we will never find, for we are forever bounded. 

Thousands exhult, rejoice, regret. Salman took to the stage, like a fish to water. Crowds thronged the local gymkhana to hear him, with his false promises and what not. Hope is a funny thing. 4 years older, yet babes of infinite innocence. Saman bhai zindabad! Bhai! bhai! Hamare bhai! Voices resonated as Mr. Promise bestowed the stage with his benign presense. Justice to those denied, food for the hungry, illuminition for those lurking in the dark! Mr. Promise grew, upwards and sidewards, in all forms. Arms and knees, knees and arms. Until he grew too heavy and...kapooch.

What happened afterwards, has been subject of a thousand books. All thrilling political satires ofcourse. Critics termed it a catastrophe. And on the auspicious occasion, a struggling shayar proclaimed Kaha woh jannat, aur kaha yeh jahanum? It is not my job to judge, I am simply a story teller. The events are henceforth:

The crowd pregnant with their 12th dose of hope grew restless as Mr. Promise grew. The excited voice of young white kurta-pyjama clad poilition failed to excite. His words failed after the initial uproar that oft follows a grand unveiling.

I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for what happened next. However, it is beyond my comprehension why somebody decided to reduce the foor fellow to the ground and have him swim in his own blood?

And so writers hurried to there desk. Records were made. Names of all those that perished in the violence that ensued were iscribed. A grand monument erected. I was deeply saddend, but then my wife announced her pregnancy and I was happy.

Salman came out of the safety of his mothers womb 9 months hence. I wasted no time in the removal of his foreskin, bestowing upon him the honour of his heritage. It's a sad thing no-one told me that the absence of this epidermis would one day leed to his unfortunate demise. It's a shame I never got to vote for him.

Inject in my veins a dream, let it run within me, through a struggled heart and around again. Impegranate my mind with the sperms of imagination, let them form into a foetus of what is not and be grown into a babe of awesome illusion, of crazed deception. Allow me, Oh most benevolent, most merciful to gestate what grows within me for the rest of my short life.

I am happy when I am delirious. When I'm injected with dreams, when all of this feels unreal...when I am lost. Ecstasy. I am wrapped in the warmth of belief. There is a second world yaara! I am 110 percent sure of it! You don't believe me? Here, here. Inject, vroom there! Off you go.

It's slow, almost static. But you're protected. This building, sirjee. Absolutely, fire proof. Here, the fierce flames of what actually is, lick along the walls. At their strongest, all frames united, even then, they fail to penetrate into this second world.

I am knee deep in reminiscence today. As I tread deeper, the pains bridled are unleashed in forms of great guffaws of laughter. It's strange, but here nothing is strange. What is and what isn't? I am miles from any traces of reality.

Fuck this. Give me another dream. So really unreal.

The shore is miles afar. And my body is caressing, moulding into the bed of the sea. I wonder why I treadled so far into the depths of my soul? Only wafts of my crackling remain. A dying flame lingers, fanned desperately by the moths of hope.

And just then, a miracle. I am transported with soul, to my beloved second world, and my body finds it place at the bottom of the sea.

A letter to my father.

I remember being perched outside my window, in the chill of winters, watching the world pass me by. I’d be standing there for hours in the evening, waiting for you to come back from work. And sometimes the sun had set and you still weren’t back I’d always wonder what was so important that  kept you away?

You’d always come back though, sometimes later than I expected and I’d have to stand out a little longer. But you’d be there for sure, every single night. I’d run up our corridor and open the door for you and you’d pull me up in your arms. Sometimes, Maria would get there before me. And you’d pull her into your arms first. I didn’t like it when that happened.

And then you’d put you’d look at ammi and you’d ask, koi chitti patri? Koi phone call? And everyday we went through the same routine.

Then one day, something happened . It was strange. I didn’t want to play cricket with you anymore. And I stopped waiting for you to come back. Sometimes, I wished you didn’t come back. You’d just tell me to study right? What was the point of that? I didn’t know what was happening, I didn’t understand these changes. Now I think about it and it makes some sense to me. I grew up.

You handled it with an air of indifference. You gave me my space. Surely, it must have been difficult for you? But you were composed. You let me make my mistakes but you were sure to make sure I learned from them.

I read somewhere that by the time a man realizes his father was right, he has son who thinks he is wrong. I still have 10 years at least before I’m a father, so I guess it’s safe to say I realized just in time.  

Love, Ahmar.

Ps: Thanks for the two best gifts you ever gave me, words and a sense of humour.

Dear Life,

Yield point is the maximum amount of load a material can take before fracture and Elasticity is the ability of the material to regain former state of being after load has been removed. In any situation, if you are able to remove the load before the cracking and consequent snap, life will go back to it's former state of being.

But there are times, more often than not where you take it just that little too far. And by the time you realise, the damage has been done, y'know? Done, donna done. Wipe the blood off your hands and run. The damage has been done.

Fatigue is when the material is fractured before the yield point due to constant load that is applied. Or in simpler terms, everything has a shelf life. Basically, say you're really smart. You're not like the other idiots who go that one step too far, you know where the line stands. So every time you apply a force, you stop JUST before this imaginary red line. And in you're head you think you think you're genius. What you don't know is that a point will come where it won't be able to take it any more and it will snap prematurely. So, again. Done, donna done. Wipe the blood off your hands and run. The damage has been done.

Recently I have faced two very similar situations, both of them involving women screwing me over. And I felt like a beam, if you may. A dark brownish, polished teak beam supported at it's two ends. In mechanics, it's referred to as a simply supported beam. God, I really wish it was simple. With you, I think it is safe to refer to it as a fucking complicated, mid air suspended beam.

So, I am a beam. A beam with emotions. A beam who is confused when it feels new emotions. I feel anger. I am furious. And it's an emotion that is completely alien to me. I don't know what to do with it. And I just know. I know I am so close to breaking. I just need that little more and Kaboom, I will explode.

I should have exploded a long time ago. I keep telling myself, Oh suck it up big boy, you can take just a little bit more, right? But this time I'm fatigued. I'm going to break before I'm expected. And when I do, just please don't say I didn't warn you.

You probably won't know I've broken though. I'm not one to make a huge racket. It's when you come to load me once more with your utter bullshit and I won't take it anymore, and you wont have any support, you will realize I am gone. So, just please. Tread carefully for a while and give me time to heal.

Thanking you,
Fucked up beam.

I lie atop a hill, stretch my arms out, press my legs together and smile inwardly, marvelling at the prefect contours of a perfectly streamlined machine. With the comfort of a bulging stomach to cushion my fall, I press the imposing red button in my head and prepare for flight.

 Altitude 20 metres, temperature 22 degrees, fasten your seat belts ladies and gentleman and prepare for landing. Descending, 1,2,3. Ouch. I cocoon myself in layers laughter, it is my protection from the world that has enveloped me. I'm not ready to break out and yet my hysteria is short lived. 

I climb back up in silence. It takes hours, and by the time I reach I'm drenched. Perhaps it's the sweat induced by the harsh sun that beats or perhaps, tears of the sorrows that weigh me down? Uncertainty grips me as I prepare for flight once more. 

And so, there we go again! Hahaha. Smiles and laughter. Jack and Jill went up the hill and came rolling down with laughter? Wait, that's not right. Or? I don't know. Uncertainty, It's everywhere. Shh. Enjoy the ride, yaar. Roll, roll, roll. Haha. 

And, with that I hit rock bottom. But, everything is uncertain. Can I go further down still? The highs are always well defined, it's how low you can go that you never know. It's all a hill, isn't it? In this silence, ignorance is almost wondrous.

Questions surround my existence. Hope this is as low as it gets.

Jaane kyun log pyaar karte hein?
Jaane kyun woh kissi pe marte hein?
Jaane kyun?

The radio on the black marble kitchen slab throws at me a series of question and waits for my reply as it is disturbed by static. I fiddle with the knobs on the side, adjusting the frequency, wanting to progress with the interrogation but the static only rings louder in my ears. I slap the noisy plastic, hoping whatever it is that has budged will hear it's calling and make it's way to wherever it is meant to be. For it too, is destined for greater things than to sit in an odd corner of a box and rust. But I guess, today is just not it's day.

I rub of the orangey-yellowish stains of last nights butter chicken, the clitter clatter of my fidgeting around the sink drowns out the static and the music that decides to make guest appearances in between. I smile as I put the last of the dishes to dry on the sill and make my way towards the living room, stopping only to stare and admire my beauty at the mirror that hangs on the parting wall.

I roll my eyes in the mirror and smile. He used to love it when I rolled my eyes at him. It would light him up instantly, as if he were a bulb and I was the switch. He would laugh and clap his hands in approval, all the while struggling to sit up straight, in the way young babes do.  But that was years ago. 40 years at the least.
He's all grown up now, with a French beard and a French wife and their little French kisses. I wonder if he ever remembers how I rolled my eyes, or if he ever remembers me?

I can't help but stay at the mirror a little longer, and cover my eyes, cover them with my hands only to strip them the next minute, with a countenance of total surprise and mouth Peekaboo! My memory brings to me fresh wafts of his laughter, and I let out a little laugh myself. It doesn't really hurt to be silly does it? Besides, his laughter was always infectious. It would ignite the whole room into fits.

But he's caught up in his web now. He doesn't have time to laugh for me any more. Oh, well. I don't have much time for him either. I'm a busy woman. Last night I cooked his favourite sort of chicken and sat beside him and he laughed and again the whole room was in fits! And today I'm going to make mutton biryani and raita, and sit next to him again. There is so much I have to do! He's going to be here any moment.

And with that I make a Ding-Dong sound in my head and rush to open the door. Oh, Mama! He says, the kitchen smells wonderful! Oh lala! I smile inwardly at his frenchness as I sit him down as I sit next to the void beside, and ask about the wife.

Today as I find myself in the solitude of my room, I find myself passenger on a train of thought, of new and old, of thoughts I wish to retain within me, thoughts I want to be mine forever and of thoughts I wished I never had. As I cast a glance around my 10X10ft abode, the gutka stained walls and the storm of Desi sharab bottles strewn across are a painful reminder of a reality I wish were a nightmare from which I could awake. In all honesty, the room I call mine is shared between the 5 of us. Allow me to enlighten you about my happy family;

I am the youngest sister to 3 alcoholic brothers and toy to a sexually frustrated father. The woman who brought me among you was lost in the process and took with her the comfort of her arms that never held me, her breasts that never fed me, her love that never warmed me and a myriad of memories which I can only imagine and wish to experience. It is in these circumstances that I have aged into a young girl of 13 and into a woman much beyond these years.

The glass factory I toil in has done little to aid me in my beauty, but that's a small price to pay for the meals it has earned me, and of course every now and then the set of occasional bangles I am provided and allowed to decorate my now built wrists. Their clinking as I muscle my way through my chores helps pass the  time. Today, I've been let off work early and been allowed to remain solitary in the 4 walls I have for so long now tried to accept as my home.

And, so on my train of thought I am lost. Today, I am Queen to a palace. Master of my own will. Yet, I cant help but wonder, if there is another palace in the world where the Queen is famished because she is duty bound to feed all the men that reside in her compound? Is there a another palace where the Queen is touched and tortured by the very men she shares her blood with? Another palace on this Earth in which the Queen herself is slave? And with these thoughts I glance at the clock that has aged with me and watch the seconds tick by. The passing of seconds has brought with them tears, for these thoughts pang my heart and plague my existence. Yet, I comfort myself in my palace and smile at the clock that has been a faithful companion through the years, never failing to remind me of my impending imprisonment.

As the first of the occupants walks in, his breath screaming of filth, I retreat to corner in my cell, and glance one last time at the clock on the opposite wall and plead for the rays of the next mornings sun. Till then I will sell my body to my father and to my brothers if they so please. And when they are done, I will lie in this very same corner, wipe my tears and with my thoughts I will build my palace. Brick by brick, I will build it. For thoughts are all that is mine in this world.

Okay! Lots of things to tell you. I have discovered. After transcending miles of forest and miles of desert, I have discovered. Here's my problem though, I'll be frank. I am unsure of the discovery I have made, unsure of the ramifications it holds and unsure still of what it truly means. Yet, there is something, deep inside the depths of my soul that tells me of an importance. An instinct, let's call it. And instinct that comes from the pit of the far right corner of my smaller intestine. Yes, that's how deep I mean. Perhaps even deeper, but the unpleasantness of what lies beyond has compelled me to not go pay to heed to instincts of the anus.

This discovery I talk of has the power to change the world, and to this I swear to the mole cushioned in my armpit hair. I have unravelled a secret, an answer, a power. Call it what suits you best, use it as you like. But, believe you me, what I have found is a panacea. What I've found is a paradigm of contentment. I'll share it with you because I know you need it, and because I want you too, to be as empowered as I have become.

Ah, lets inert that incessant need for an answer before the question has been asked, first, shall we? Slow down, take a dee breath in. Relax. I need you to let go of all inhibitions you hold, let go of all worries you hold within you, let go of all the negativity you encapsulate, let go and be free. And once you're done, once you've breathed out you'll be prepared discover what I have discovered. 

One last thing. They're no free lunches in life and I'll be damned to feed you your first. So, with you I shall make a deal. I'll share with you what I've found and you in return will share this with someone else. And in this way, my travels to the mountains and the deserts will become worthy. 

What I've found is something you hold within you. What I've found is nothing new, nothing out of this world, nothing you wouldn't already know of, no, this isn't water on Mars. What I've found is so simple, yet so decorated. I travelled only to return full circle, to find what I seek was in my possession all along. And thus, I discovered. I have discovered the beauty of simplicity and with this, I have discovered happiness.

Go now, find your happiness and go further, go share it with somebody. 

I will run away and in my leaps I will find my dream. With every step, I will hit the ground harder and my heart will beat faster and I will be closer to my dream. I will chase like I chased the horizon hoping to find the end of the world, I will chase like I chased the beginning of a rainbow. And somewhere, in that ignorance I hope will lose my way and find my dream.

My heart beats a drum in my quest. A quest and nothing less, a quest for me to find myself in my dream. And as I hit the ground harder still, I find it hard to lose my way. For a road unobstructed only seems till I hit an end. And every road is the same and has been, for the horizon only seems further as I make my way and the rainbow only higher.

I want to be lost and find my way back. I want to be lost and yet I am trapped. To be lost is to be free, to be lost is to let the world lose you but have the world at your feet. To be lost is anything you want it to be, to be lost without boundaries. But I am trapped.

I have run to lose my way and now I will run to trip and lose a pretty face. I will trip and lose myself, and as my blood runs, and as I lose my pretty face I will a find a new world. I will find a world that will want to turn in disgust, a world incapable for taking me without my mask, I will find a world that is not afraid to lose me. I will run away to trip and find myself and in myself I will find my dream.

Ah. Finally, the road unobstructed is actually so. Finally the world bleeds all it true colours. Blacks and Browns mixed to disgust. I am far away from where I was, into my dream that I have found. The worlds cruelty is mine and in this cruelty I have found the world that has lost me.