The Mascara Eyes – Dark Moons in an Eclipsed, Sun-Lit Sky!

The Killing Passion:

The craving for the sight of a pair of eyes is both fascinating and highly confusing. The passion to dive in them, to dwell in those is a labyrinth which no man can completely comprehend. What is it? How does it feel? I cannot express; I am not blessed with the divine ability to transcend the human bounds of this earthly love towards the heavenly one. How graceful are the poets who could explain their feelings when they look into the wide, clear and crystal eyes of their beloved! I always wonder what it is that gets triggered when we look in there. Don’t simply scrape it off naming it as adrenaline or testosterone or something else. I don’t care what it is that is causing the “heavenly feeling,” I just care about the feeling. I don’t want to know “how,” I am just a primitive being walking in the modern world and all I care about is “why,” and that, moody of the people call nature or love.

I don’t exactly know what love is. I don’t know how to someone should feel it. I even don’t know how that works, happens or. . . I don’t know how to question love about love. If I know the workings of it, I’d talk or ask something. I’d know what kind of questions I should pose. But nah, I am incapable of it. All I know is myself and not “love.” So, I all this: “whom do I love?” “Whom can I love?” “Are there any certain limitations regarding whom I could love?” “What are the limitations?” That’s how my questioning flowchart goes on, and at a precise point which I cannot explain, there comes this enlightened thought: “Are the limitations per which I am surrendering (unconsciously) got created by ‘humans’ and ‘society’ and not something else?” Then, I suddenly feel enraged. If love is not something which humans created, how would they set limitations for it?! No one would answer; even if someone answers, I’m not ready to take it: I’m an idiot!

The Idiocy:

There was a theory I read in past, it is something like this: if someone takes you to a car showroom which has cars only of black colour and of a single company, if they ask you to select any car you want, ah, that wouldn’t be real freedom idiots, no! Hm. . . (I’ll be talking as a boy, because it’d be easy for me,so be cool with it) To love a girl, she should be younger to you (sorry Western guys, it is not easy to break this in India), she should be younger, but not too young, she should be of the same religion, same caste, it’d be better if she’s beautiful, she should be a very good girl to take care of the family, she should be really homely, shouldn’t be rash at elders, ah, ayyoo. . . This would become a post describing the quality list to love someone, just to love one. . . If you ask me, being a human, loving someone is the hardest task ever.

Idiocy: should love happen only on someone who is younger to you? On someone who is near to your age, because it’ll be easily accepted in the society? There are a thousand questions in my head. The possible ideal love would be: loving someone who is three years elder to you, someone whose family would be of same religion and caste, loving someone who would have time till you settle with your career and the best thing is this: loving at 23 or 25 years. 16 or 18years love would be scraped as “infactuation” and shit! Juliet is 14 bro! Just because the school managements cannot take all the pressure, they made the 16 years love seem like a sin, or I don’t know, I’m talking every shit that’s coming to my head. I no longer understand what is right and what is wrong. I cannot distinguish between what is natural and what is made up by humans and their societies. But I know one thing: love doesn’t have limits. Or, does it?! I don’t know. Does “love” know all the constraints we are posing upon it? Hm. . . I’m a primitive man walking in the modern world!

The Eyes:

They are big, like petals of a lotus flower, I am thinking if I could get a picture of those eyes. They are really clear and crystal like. The dark black iris of her beautiful eyes wouldn’t touch any of the lids; “oh my good gracious god, how did you ever create such a thing?!” The black iris would just sail in the ocean of that pure whiteness; it would seem like it really is floating in there. When the eyes are closed, I mean, when she blinks, all my inner elements; both spiritual and physical would crave for the moment they’d get open again. When they had opened, the iris would dance again, carelessly, without bothering how many hearts it is capturing, without bothering how many eyes are staring, enraptured.

There would also be a thin ring of shining white light around the black iris, more brighter than the white sky where the iris hangs from. A black iris, surrounded by a lighting white ring, like, the iris is hovering over a star or a sun. Like, her eyes are the sky having bright stars, but there is an eclipse killing the stars. Ah, manifestation of a cosmic act. She could be called “Stella,” may be, for it means, “Stars,”. . .

Those black spheres are like two dark moons hanging in an eclipsed, sun-lit sky!

The Poem:

Riding the dark moon of the sky,

Is she the goddess who can fly?

Sunken are the stars behind the eyes,

Hoping she’d blink and they’d shine.

I’m taken to that place where she hides,

Taking refuge from the world which’d deny,

“All the angels have died, only She remains.”

{Pardon me for all the ridiculous contradictions. I’m not just in my mind. Thank you.}

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