My Terminal

I sense immense pleasure every time I see people carrying a dead body to the graveyard. I find the deplorable, moist eyes of the loved ones of the corpse soothing. I feel good when a lifeless body is on the verge of losing its connection with this living world as the lid of the coffin is tardily shut. I enjoy spending time with myself in a graveyard crowded with lively spirits. Although I can’t see any movement around, I always feel their presence when dry leaves rustle in the strong breeze blowing across the cemetery. The silent crying of air makes me believe that someone follows me every time I visit my favorite destination.

Death, it seems, is the only medicine that can bring relief to my sorry soul. Every moment I spend on this planet contributes to my grief. I am bleeding since the very first day I trod on the planet. And the fall of last drop of blood flowing in my veins on the soil will declare the end of my rues. I know death is my destiny and I am thirstily running towards it. Birth, life and death constitute a magnet with birth and death being its two poles and life being the separation between the two poles. No matter how short this magnet is, the two poles never meet each other and it is left to us to determine our path from birth to death. Sorrow is a monotonic increasing function of distance traveled between birth and death. The more you walk, the more you suffer. I am tired of walking this wearisome path and I am in need of renaissance. I need to construct my shortest road to death using the colorless flesh of time. The unfortunate event of birth pushes me away from itself, while enthralling personality of death attracts me as if asking me to sublime in its affectionate arms.

I envy the freedom of the dead buried three feet beneath the ground in a six feet long coffin, for he relishes his decision of discontinuing his relationship with the painful job of living. He celebrates his role of a creature that doesn’t have to bother about his survival. I wish to live the life of a dead. I want to explore that maverick world.

I plead for death in front of the Master. I hurt ‘living people’ around me just to make sure that they file complaint against me in the court of the Lord. I bruise them so that the curses germinating in their anguished hearts can agitate Him to consider my case. In a way, I use people as attesters of my sins in front of Him.

The volume of this anti-Abhieshek league is growing and I know that I am on the brink of winning my right to die. I want this group to accelerate my bleeding; I need them to assist me in engineering the road to my casket; I ask them to help my cause. My ways of approaching my destiny might be eccentric and my habit of exploring for shortcuts might lengthen my path, but at this moment, I can clearly vision my darling end and I want to accomplish this task forthwith. May God approve the petition of this distressed lot in near future!