Anaahat

I look at you to clam my nerves. I look at you when they all turn their backs. I look at you when I do not make sense, even to myself. I look at you for faith and for a little bit of understanding. I look at you to guide me and to mis-guide me. To be with me and to let me be. I look at you at all times of my life. But especially when there is disquiet And when I do not make sense, even to myself.

A series of are incidents, related, unrelated Which just fall in a sequence trying to make sense. Surprising events, shocking, happy, sad, tearful and all other adjectives you can think of - leaving you to suffer. Alone. One such program, Which makes us rise from ashes like a phoenix. When someone dies with our love and emotions, We rise up again and are ready to love someone else. The lost person, just reduced to pictures in old photographs, drunken remembrances, anecdotes and leftover laughs. Yet, we live on like a phoenix. Even if life is an illusion that we dream up. And as in dreams, we still fear death. We still fear that snake, that tiger, that man with a knife. And yet, as always, we live on. Still scared to die. And waiting to rise like a phoenix. A prelude.