World’s End–The Most Beautiful Place Ever

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No one knows, but there is a place somewhere around in the hidden realms of this world–kept well hidden from the local eye. The eye which meets every other eye, which meets every other eye–the common eye. This place is carved out of valleys and shade. This place is atop the most high mountains. The most secret shores. It is a secret well kept hidden. Upon the lake where water meets the skyline and the Sun is born. And when it grows old, it disappears like sound of silence. This place is called ‘World;s End’ and it is indeed the most beautiful place.

Gold is not gold here, it turns into wisp–golden wisp, so that at every Sun dance there is a hue of gold spread in such a way which entwines with the dark only to make it more beautiful. Here light is not just light–but a magnetic and hypnotic force which makes one–happy. An emotion which was never found, always sought and often forgotten. You see, this place is the horizon of everything that was and will be.

Here love is not born. Hate is not bred. Here neither things happen and none are believed in. Love-hate; the lethal combination which are both feared and both so very common. At World’s End, there is nothing like love to e thought to felt and hate¬† to be known to felt. That is perhaps why this is the most beautiful place on earth.

Where the silver of the Moon breathes unto the Stars all the secrets which were never known to any one or anything. Here whispers just disperse and go about and here the Nightingales don’t sing but are sung to by the most mellow voice. Tears melt into the skin here and thus begins daytime.

Here the hollow voices and the vacant stares and the empty smiles don’t matter because here they all come to rejoice in the pleasant dark which seems so utterly magnificent–like soft velvet which amalgamates with silk.

This is my World’s End. I come here often, to sing to the lake and watch it turn into an ocean–with waves. Lots and lots of waves. This is my secret. Well hidden from the eye which sees the other eye which sees the other eye- the common eye.

Here i come by, in my solitude–which turns into mirth which turns into Tears shed by God. Finally all turns into vapor and disappears along with the smoke which emanates music–spreading.

Here, dreams dissolve but do not disappear. They take root, like the huge tree which gives life and shade. Rocks made of past—steady but pointy yet important. One can always stand on one and jump into the gushing waters and feel each breath as it folds and unfolds. The body struggling to catch itself. The mind–in control.

I come here often, at World’s End. Every time i come by, i see a world turning and twisting. Screaming and struggling. Breathing and dying. Dancing and flying. All of it, you name it, i can see it, feel it, hear it and….let it go. Every time i come to World’s End–The Most Beautiful Place on Earth– the world begins. Once more. Evermore. Always.

 

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It is not even remotely hilarious how the end comes so quickly and how the end comes while being so melancholic–so brutal–so real–so imaginary and so very lonely. How in the end, not a single soul stays by your side–not even those who claimed to always be there… People never stay. Friends move away. And it is absolute nothingness. The birds and butterflies, the silent mountains, the calm skies and the deep waters– nothingness. So in the end, don’t bother to expect..it’ll come crashing down, just like you did. Close your eyes. Sleep.¬†