The Unfinished Prose

The Unfinished Prose

It was a perfect midnight. I was restricting my slumbers to gain control over me by even a fragments of degree, possible. I was not supposed to sleep, was not meant to sleep at least that moment, that night. I know and was constantly aware of the fact that He was at sharp watch; watching me if I did go to bed. I could not allow myself that privilege that night, who knows the future?

“I have to finish this prose”. I kept saying, “No,No”, I was repeating that to myself like a malfunctioned computer program that keeps popping out the same results again and again, repeatedly. I was serving my senses with that information with more than an ordinary attention. But soon to my amazement I found that all my precautions to alter sleep were infact preparative for sleep.

My senses on one hand were pretending to carry out my strict orders and on the other hand secretly and silently cordially welcoming their lover. I could hear the silent, so very silent, so very much silent conversations between them. I have to confess at this point, Yes I enjoy pretending sometimes being a fool. At one hand I am showing all my intent, all my interest, all my sublime enthusiasm focused towards the completion of the prose that I have started and on the other hand which is quite a reality I am so desperate deciphering that clandestine code. Now I am beginning to realize the degree of slumber gaining strength to overpower me, to ruin me.

I am just being unconventionally, untraditionally unfair to my senses. I always engage my senses to satisfy my vanity and never leave them at rest, at peace even at 2:16am in the morning. Is not that a cruelty? But what can I do while I am so in desperate condition to complete this prose. No matter what I have to. Now I am again beginning to wonder and realize, “Am I not being too strict towards my own senses?”

All the creations in this world must and deserve some rest and this ought not be deprived from them but here at my circumstance if I allow some tender rest then what will happen to my prose; it will die, rather unfinished; it will never see how it was carried out and executed till the end by my human intelligence. Under no possible circumstances I can prematurely destroy this prose now that the seeds are beginning to unfold itself to the beauty of the surrounding, to the wilderness.

“Am I such a bastard,non-sense and a lunatic butcher?”.

“No, not at all”.Something,I mean someone speaks up abruptly from inside of me.

Who can it be? It can be either my soul or my working senses. Let that be decided later.

Suddenly I realize my thought process has created a chaos, a chaos so strong that all my senses and their lovers have all of a sudden ceased their action and reaction just simply to glance at me. I can feel their wide sharp eyes penetrating me, scolding me if not rudely then perhaps with sweet delicacy. I know it is too late to stay awake. So what?

Why cannot a man make a solemn and trustworthy friendship with himself, all his senses and their lovers? Can he ever? Has he ever?

At this state I cannot give account of other men but I have never tried to be in harmony with my senses which would inevitably suggest me as someone lazy,sluggish,indolent,rude,pompous,glutton and perhaps misrepresent a human species that God righteously created with his sincerest effort. How can I deny my own creator who has given me this understanding about myself which none other creature can perhaps possibly be ever be able to comprehend. I do not want my posterity to recognize me as a pig unworthy of anything except being called a loathsome lazy pig. That would be an utter shame; what a representation that would be of this human form. Is not it?

Now that my senses are all very well aware of my thoughts, my intentions, I can see them trotting here and there aimlessly like a penniless vagabond, not even too excited to welcome their lovers. I can sense this must be weary, I can detect their desperation, their aggressiveness, their inner plead for me to realize that they are mere senses and not so capable, sufficient and powerful as humans in which I relish and take an immense pride, pleasure and vanity.

“Okay, take a momentary rest, but be well aware not to trick me into something detestable ,something cunning that will result something unpredicted, something ugly; me to despise you”. I declared that from my throne taking advantage of my superiority.

Next morning I woke up from my deep slumber with the unfinished prose still on my hand, my pen mocking at me just showing its head below the pillow. Greatly annoyed I curse my senses but can find them no more nor their lovers.

Okay I will wait for them again later tonight.



Nitin Mishra