There was something moving inside him. He told himself a cataclysmic change indeed it was bringing out the devil in flashes.
Blocks were drifting. The stillborn was already past its prime.
He felt he was vacated suddenly but couldn’t find the free space inside when he needed to be into.
The style, the substance, and its eerie similarity to the time when it was a dark run of circumstances, all were telling him a tale told and foretold, throughout his life, if he could say it so, if he could encapsulate the moments in the birth of that life of him, a life that was somehow a sordid tale of misunderstanding, manipulation, betrayal and stabbing.
He was left bruised, tormented, traumatized.
Times were shifting. Acting desperately, he tried to sift through the mess he was thrown into to make sense of what was happening, why it was happening.
His efforts, his commitment to the continuity, his sincerity to the cause, his innocence to the identities, his conscience for the individualities, every person of him was so brutally traded off, so mercilessly killed, as if he had no identity, as if he never had an existence.
And he lived for his identity only. And he lived for making a meaningful existence of him only.
And he was left bleeding, his soul manipulated, compromised and hurt.
The devil had the chance to take him over, to do with him all he had not been able to do. And his mischievousness came with
The darkness ran deep, going well into the past. The dreadful bonhomie of the evil spirit was singing in fusion with the voice of his detractor.
A cataclysmic change imposed on him, forced on his identity. He was staring at the odds of annihilation of his soul.
He was thus calling for the survivor in him desperately.
And then, he saw the light.
©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/