Burning Castles, Flying Mountains

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Where do mountains fly to? And why do castles end up being burned? Questions which no one asks and no one has any answers of. Why do we build up so many questions inside our thick walls of reasons? Where do these questions come from? Why cant we answer them?

This is no story, rather this is an enigma–a puzzle which opens up to more puzzles and more of them. Do we know where we are heading towards and why and what pulls us? Who walks along with us and why don’t they stop? What do we call the millions of dead dreams that we have to carry on our shoulders? Where do we bury them and why cant we forget them?

What is the meaning—the meaning of having so many stars shining up in the night sky while so many dead burning castles in the utter daylight glare at the slowly turning world. Why are we given and bestowed presents and why are they swiftly taken away from us? The music we can hear…and create and fall prey to–where does it come from and why does it come from there?

Who are all the people we meet everyday and smile at and then they smile back so we make small talk and soon they turn into larger than life conversations–all to end up nowhere-because nowhere is as good a place to be. But who are the people and why do they surround us and why do they smile when they can not even recall the last time they had a good laugh? Who are those ghosts in the photographs that we see every time we look at our pictures—just happy, pretending and staring right back at us as if mocking us for being out their alive—but dead. Ghosts mocking at us for being dead.

SO who set the castles on fire? Why did the mountains take flight?

Words, words and more words. Meaningless and fickle and so powerful yet so fragile and so loathsome. Words. My enemies and my friends. Dreams, my bane and my sanity. Happiness–why wisdom. Wisdom–my quest. There is water, but no one is putting the fire out. The fire which burns the castles. How can they?

So here we are, still stuck at questions and still asking around if this is the right way or which is the right way, seldom bothered about why this is the right way…or why this is any way at all for that matter. And here we are, shell shocked because we know there is a way. There always is and we can never see our way around it. This way; o heaven and to hell, to betterment and to the worst of our fallacies, to music and to shade, to light and to dark….so many ways. Yet no shelter and no cure and no where to actually be.

I set the castles on fire. I made  the mountains fly..because no one else would. So the mountains fly and from wayy up in the sky they see the castles being burned down to ash and dust so that it will, travel with the wind towards the mountains and become them. And when they do, they will whisper to each other how there was no way but all there was—was fire and dust and someone who finally let them go. For all they held were empty secrets that no one bothered looking for.

Castles on fire, flying mountains—together we all catch the final breath.

Thus the world turned purple.

 

 

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