Lovers all around me, hand in hand, with fresh red roses and whispers of sweet nothings straight out of a cheesy love song. I realize I am living the lyrics of song writer’s dream, eating every word from the pain to the overwhelming passion.
Every single line is personified, every punctuation magnified. The melodious tune renders me immobile, transporting me beyond an astral plane within my head. Love – a realization that it conquers all. No matter how much one tries to deny it, in the end we all succumb to its consummate Power.
The methodology may differ – be it a chubby young cupid in pink diapers shooting its red arrows of love, or a sultry blonde siren with blood trickling down her fangs amidst a dark gothic ambience, eventually we all fall in love with the person made for us.
The difference sometimes, is that some people have too many people made for them. Such consequences are disastrous. The casualty figure is higher than all the wars put together, after all, we die not just once when it comes to Love.
Then there are those who still haven’t found the one made for them. Like cowboys we roam the planet, whistling our song of sadness as a form of escapism. Ridiculed by those who are in love, we are like the pariah of Paradise. The wind is my only companion, and memories are all that I have of what it feels like to fall in love.
The journey ahead is still barren, like a parched land of paddy where the root refuses to sprout, not because of the lack of water, but because the farmer refuses to care for it. I’m a potter without the clay.
When Pygmalion created the statue of Galatea and fell in love with it, Aphrodite gave Life to that statue. As for me, I have already sculptured my Galatea in my head. The problem is, she comes to life and then dies again, many times. And every time she dies, a part of me dies. Others may resurrect again like the magnificent Phoenix in all its fiery glory. Me, I zombify, mentally.
And yet in spite of all the forlornness and empty talks, there is also that great freedom and euphoria about being a lone rider. The call of the wild is enticing, and like the mighty river Amazon, we cut across unexplored parts of our emotions slowly, but steadily.
Maybe in that journey we will come across a new Goddess to worship again. A new religion to follow. Someone who can make us change everything that we stand for and believe in. Never underestimate the power of a woman.
And when that day comes, there will be lightning and thunder battling with each other inside my head again, celebrating the highest achievement of mere mortals. A fusion between the darkest inhibition and the purest of all sins. An avatar of completeness. A ridiculous melodrama of never-ending bicker, yet perfectly fine and acceptable.
But until then, us lone riders will keep riding. Alone. From one sunset to the other, occasionally sending out smoke signals to reassure each other that we are not alone. An acknowledgement. A universal understanding.
A testosteral bonhomie.
Meanwhile, a happy Valentine’s Day to the rest of you.
|If you like this post or you’re A Lone Rider riding towards the sunset all by yourself please feel free to digg!|