The Roaring Waves Of Love's Embrace

If you want to listen to the music that plays within my soul, you have to come close, be in the quiet, close your eyes and focus - or you would miss a few notes. If you find it so soothing to be true, I dare you put me into the hottest of pans and fry me up alive until I give up my ghost, pour a few bottles of acid and water over me so I burn down faster but into a lowly sludge of slimy ash. As you see my flesh and bones shudder in the heat with excruciating pain, do these three things - the last wishes of a dying man - one, do not panic; two, bite your teeth and be cold for a while; three, come closer still and stare. To add to the disturbing chill, you would notice even the last few gasping breaths of mine speaking volumes of love.

You might, with mock derision, ask me - what do you know of love if you have never been into an affair? How do you know what it feels like to be immersed in the roaring waves of love's embrace? You are a fucking virgin, you haven't even touched a girl ever in a sensuous way - what kind of noisy rant do you moan of love? Love certainly is not simple and I don't understand much of its complexities - who does anyway! - but I know one thing very clear. It was only when I walked into the darkest of places, I found love; and ever since I have been paralyzed by its symphony. It was in melancholy, I discovered my melody; and I precisely know where to find beauty - for it lies hidden inside the scars and the unhealed wounds.

It is true that we cannot limit love to culture and its many rituals, because it is beyond human constructs of family and society. There is nothing apart from love that can transcend every divisive force that tries to wreck this world. I always tell the kids I meet at the orphan homes that if they wanted to become superman, they should love. Because when love sets in, it would make a superhero out of the simple you. For - at the touch of love, one not just becomes a poet; he also becomes a mad man, a man truly out of his fucking mind; and history has always testified to the fact that only madmen have insofar loved in truth. You need to be really mad to not shy away from getting beaten up for the sake of the oppressed; to pump your blood out frequently to help save lives despite being an epileptic; to love others more than you love yourself even though you clearly know 'love thy neighbour more than thou love thyself' is recipe for self-destruction. What is life, but to continuously break yourself down completely and then build again - until the day you become the best edifice, a wonder the entire world would rave about.