By Noddari

I - Bogu

I am everything that there is but there is nothing. I own no body and I own no soul, yet consciousness is left of me. Everything is yellow. There is nothing that is not yellow. I cannot see it, because I have no eyes, yet I know it. I know it is very cold. Just by thinking about it would make a human body faint, yet I feel nothing.


And Bogu appears. I cannot see Bogu and I cannot hear Bogu, yet I know what it is and what it wants to say. Bogu has two faces and Bogu is sad.


Bogu is as sad as it is cold out here. This is not the sadness a child feels when they don't get a candy. This is the sadness that pierces a fragile flesh. This is the sadness that crystalizes itself in a body and cannot be dissolved.


Bogu insists: "I am Bogu" and Bogu insists: "I am no longer Bogu".


Bogu says: "everything is red" And Bogu says: "everything is green" even though there is nothing but yellow.


I can do nothing but to exist. I can do nothing but to witness Bogu's sadness. My transcendence is not enough as I am not God. My presence is figurative yet I don't even have a figure.


Bogu continues: "Bogu feeds me no more" and Bogu continues: "Bogu feeds me no more".


Bogu cries: "Bogu loves me no more" and Bogu murmurs: "love does not exist".


Bogu is as sad as it is cold out here. This is not the sadness parents feel when their kids go to college. This is the sadness I have only seen in a dying dog's eyes. This is the sadness I have only seen in a mother's tears, who's only two sons have just passed away.


Bogu is not dead. Bogu is alive. Bogu is dying.


II - I have nothing to say

Get hold of yourself, you're fine!


Yesterday, I talked to a friend. Realizing that after the conversation I have finally reached the conclusion calmed me down, comforted me. Come to think of it, probably, it is as much of relief for Sisyphus to walk down freely as it is a burden to carry the stone all the way up.


I can guess what you are thinking about me now, that I'm a tortured hero, the black rose of humanity. And honestly, it's not far from the truth, I actually am something like that, but so are you and so is everyone else out there.


I'll tell you a secret - there are no red roses in this garden. All of us are black. But know this as well - the gardener pays his price too, we are not claimed for free! As our thorns penetrate his flesh, just like a dying bee's last pitiful retaliation, we spit out our final words. Then we turn white as whiteness is what remains.


However, this is not the only secret I want to share with you. What you know is a small part of a huge puzzle. Remember - neither 5 lines were enough to compose a masterpiece, nor ultraviolet will leave a trace of perception on your brain; Neither can you touch your soul, nor googolplexian is infinity. Admit it! Your knowledge of the world is limited to your flesh and bones. You don't know the universe as it is! You simply can not. Thus whatever you are trying to tell me is flawed. You see, this puts us in the very same situation - I, too, am flawed.


And while your whispered final words will be "I'm sorry", hear out mine - "I have nothing to say".


III - Blasphemy

I am God and I have been murdered. I have been murdered over and over again. I will be murdered and mutilated many more times. It's been quite a long time since I have met expectations - mostly I fail. The mistakes I've allowed and the facts I've ignored are all backfired to me. The lives I've drunk and the deaths I've been given were never to serve me in heavens but in hell. The Suffering is beyond my authority. The Suffering is beyond my pervasiveness. I'm reduced to flesh and my name is reduced to The Martyr.


I was inborn God and no one treated me like one. I was a teenager at the time, 14 or 15 years old. I just dimly recall that I wanted to become a doctor to help people. I liked to draw and I liked to listen to music. I had friends and family. I had memories that were worth living and I had memories that were worth dying. I was a normal girl in a village, living my life as I was told to. I was trying to be happy. If I thought I was or I wasn't, I don't remember. It doesn't matter. I realize now that I was happy before regardless of what I thought.


Now that I've been living in Hell and know what it is, I think people take the word way too lightly. I was walking down a street and the next thing I knew was that I was abducted. I was repeatedly being gang-raped for an unknown period of time. My body was mutilated in many possible ways - an iron rod was inserted in me that damaged my internal organs because the damages from outside were not enough. It was all for fun.


The pain I have lived and the pain that has brought death to me ceased its mortality and emerged into eternity. The pain I have lived and the pain that has brought death to me became my definition of Hell. The pain I have lived and the pain that has brought death to me also brought me becoming the only Martyr in my torturous domain. I was God yet I was the least of it at the same time.


After countless empires emerged and fell; after enormous galaxies grew and died; after myriad black holes consumed and were consumed my suffering ceased to exist in physical and psychological realms. The blasphemy I'd been committed reached its maturity after all. My body was dumped in the timeless void and everything of me vanished.


But don't worry if you haven't had a chance to kill your God yet - I'm born and reborn over and over. You'll have your turn because only suffering is truly omnipresent companion of humankind, nothing else.


source
IV - It will not

I'm in the place where the judgment lies behind the closed doors, the judgment whether what once moved stops moving and the last bits of remaining energy are consumed now or later. The despair that has nested in the walls for years is consuming every intruder and i have just barged in here. This is the place where the vast vessels of my heart cannot withstand the pain I'm perceiving and the tears are its only way to materialize itself outside of my body.


The red, wet eyes of my alikes are making me feel I'm in the right place to be emotional and no judgmental gazes are eating me out. Eventual looks of empathy also passes through my being, but again, i feel I'm in the right place to be emotional and they don't disturb me and my moment of suffering. The silent screams of help are crucified on my face and they're very well visible on the strange configuration of my facial muscles - all of these sell out my sadness and I am projected in other's minds as a very sad person but i don't care as the pain doesn't allow me to care about the exposure - it's the pain's temporary reign over my body and the soul. The hope, which still exists, is slowly engraving itself in the state of hibernation and no matter how much i try to evoke it, it resists.


The words of compassion of other humans reach me but they collapse into sounds of unperceivable energy and are consumed by the subconscious without any traces of registration in the upper self reception. The noises of frequencies of low and high all crash into my ears and achieve nothing but to bring the chaos in. The lights of spectrum of dim and bright all flow in my eyes and all they bring is irregularity. The heat swallows me whole and chokes me. The cloths I'm wrapped in to cover up my naked body suppress me. The only taste i am able to recognize is bitterness.


And then you come and your tender words are arriving clearly - "Everything will be all right". My being absorbs the words and the idea behind. Everything will be all right - the brain loops it over and over again - everything will be all right...

It will not.


V - Anxiety

Sometimes, the unbearable heaviness descends upon my body the moment i open my eyes and my mind is awaken. This is not the heaviness of material origin. This is the guiding darkness in the bright of a sunshine - the black lenses of life that i have not asked for but was given and which i am so clung to now.


From time to time the overwhelming whiteness blinds me, the star's outburst photons reach my skin and those times i feel calm and happy as no distorted reality reaches my mind and mingles in the depth of realms of it. On the contrary - my soul rests in serenity and my brain approves a break from suffering. I'm floating in the middle of blue ocean and i ask for no help as i require none. The images are clear and i can see all that you are. But it is not for long.


My outcry deafens all around me as the black clouds are back more often now than they used to. They destroy the faces of everyone and it is really hard for me to recognize anyone, even you. The glitches on you cut through your being and the black crack on your face is terrifyingly increasing, consuming you and everyone in their own black holes. As you approach me i see not you but a monster that i have created of you and my brain vetoes any kind of relief as i am forced to digest all the bitterness of the suffering at its fullest and beyond.


As time passes the clouds dissolve and I'm still floating in the ocean. But it is not blue any more nor it is calm. The soundscapes are distorted like you and the visions are fading in unpercivable absence of light. I am broken and the ocean is filling me up with the black water. As i drown more and more the pressure increases and I'm deforming from my self. As i reach the depth of the furthest point down in the ocean I almost cease to exist as a different entity. My being is liquid black now. There is but one hope that is left of me and that is to be dried out of the now unbearable wetness and lit out of the darkness. That is only possible through a new breath which i hope to feel one day. If only that "one day" really existed on my future timeline.