Here I am

Here I am. Where am I? My body is slouching on a chair. My hands are typing words which are seemingly conjured from the invisible state residing in me, maybe my conscience. And I do not know which one defines me. My tangible body or my intangible conscience?

I cannot say I am happy. I am not unhappy either. For sure. I know this state of my mind is a tangled rope. Which knot do I need to untie first?

In my dreams, I saw numerous characters, most of them are known. But they were disciplined. They behaved as I intended them to do. In my dreams, I was God. Yet, there was no satisfaction. There was always a loose end. A small page is still beyond my reach. I could not read it. I could understand it. I could rectify it. Then it became a blunder and it tried to rectify me. I became small. No longer God. No fun!

What is there that I cannot still touch? What is that? A wall? A barrier? It comes and goes. It gives happiness and sadness. It tells me stories where I came out as the protagonist. My whole life puts me in front line. This name of mine is nothing but a name. I could have been Mr. X or Mr. S. One alphabet is important enough to change the whole scenario. World of human is very attached to naming. Judging. Deciding. Playing God. Then night emerges with its vast dark sky and countless stars on it. And the theory of god ebbs away. Everyone is same, feeble, prone to be dead. Soon death.

Mr. X sometimes comes to Mr. S. He asks why this face of gratitude is so needed. Why can’t Mr. S leave all of the acting and show his real face? Mr. X is fortunate enough to exist only in imagination. Imagination is far soothing than reality. Like a hypocrite, it can get itself out of promise. Symbolism of Kafka is indeed great. Reality can destroy its greatness any moment. That is truth. But truth can also be changed. Truth is in my head. Here I am.