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A Eulogy To Existence

By Geisha Khatwani


There are two questions that define all of humanity. Where do we come from, and, more importantly, where do we go? What lies for us beyond life? What horrors or joys await us in the capsule that exists beyond everything we know? Where the simple laws of the world: space, time, even reality, hold no meaning? Uncertainty has sparked theory, with religions rising upon these very foundations, entire cultures built over the simple humane need to answer these questions. Everyone believes in the existence of their own paradise or a never-ending cycle of punishment. Yet, no one pictures what actually is: a mirror.


Death is but a thin veil into which the deceased gaze back upon life. Eternal silence and unnerving calm decorate the infamous afterlife, and all around you lies life. That is all you witness, endlessly, ceaselessly; the simple passing of time from a place free of its constraints. 


For eons, you watch. You watch humanity, and you learn of its twisted, ugly nature. You see wars wage over the thirst for power, countless lives lost to serve no greater cause but man’s own selfishness. You watch as the warmth of love turns to stone-cold hatred, as caressing fingers turn to enclosed fists. You see slaughter, you see cruelty, you see evil. But, every once in a while, a spark illuminates the darkness. You watch lovers embrace, you hear a child laugh, and for just a moment, you forgive the world of its sins. 


There is music playing. Your ears strain towards the melody, grasping at the slice of mortality that has escaped to this still, silent world. You see eyes, closed in bliss, brows, furrowed in concentration. In death, there are no emotions. No resemblance of anything human. But when his fingers glaze the rims of the keys, every press is fuelled with the longing of sound, of melody, of something, to fill the silence of loneliness, and oh. Tears drip from red-rimmed eyes, hands move faster. The music stirs, awakens, springing to life to conjure great tales of love, tragedy and heartbreak. You see stone walls that stand invincible to the outside world crumble to dust behind the curtains of a lonely room. So fragile, so beautiful. So utterly human. You almost feel alive. The song ends, and the numbness washes over you like a bucket of water. You almost mourn the loss.


There is silence. The only sounds that crack at the glass pane of quiet are the rhythmic ticking of a clock and the rustling of paper. Sunlight illuminates motes of dust suspended like hanging puppets in the air, casting the glow of pixie dust on something so ordinary. The dark mahogany shelves melt to honey in the embrace of the sun, cracked book spines glinting like polished gemstones embedded within a dusky crown. Warmth seeps from the scene, and oh, you are so cold. Death leaves nothing within your body but emptiness. A frigid, unyielding void to replace a beating heart. Your fingers are blue, the skin cracked and lifeless, stretched achingly for comfort. You are Tantalus, this is your fruit; ever-present, always a fraction out of reach. You would cry if there were any tears left.


By Geisha Khatwani


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Meenakshi Negi
Meenakshi Negi
2024年9月18日
評等為 5(最高為 5 顆星)。

I'm in absolute awe of this piece. Such profound stream of thoughts engulfed in beautiful words. What an amazing writer you are. Keep writing.

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