Prospects of the tiniest being

When I was a child a day was experienced when the wall was flooded with a line of ant. I had tried to kill all of the beautiful things. Then I was gone outside for a game of cricket or whatever. When I came back I could see the line moving once again showing me their middle fingers. What a fool I had been? What a fool I am now?

Few days back my bed was flooded with ants biting me from all the possible potentials. I named the bed Antpur. 

For her I have been swelling up all my actions. For her to see. For her to listen. I have been listening since ages. I have been seeing since. Every animal do whatever they do to attract their distant lover. I am no different. 

The staying of the big balled balloon is not a mistake. It can’t be as simple as silly.

I am looking them coming and going. For sure nobody is looking at me. This is not my thought. The smoke of the burning fleshes was as close to the smoke of the crematorium. The mix of so many smells can be got there.  There only. Every complexly weaving mystery gets unfolded in front of this reality. Every cell. Every bacteria. Every arthropod. Millipedes. Every Protista. Every dinausaur. Every Caucasian.Every ape. Milli-ape. Every proton. Neutron. Bosons. What a surprise?  A smoke got spread today. A smoke to kill the larvae of the insects (that have been influencing our lives these days). They have been successful perhaps in spreading their deed. I have heard someone say ‘Someone will come and fuck it up.’ They are perhaps the agents of the revolution or creation. They will surely attain nirvana. They will. It felt like the world vanished. It re appeared beautifully every white. Every black. Every magnet. Everything got reverberated.  I saw the excreta of the horse the other day. It was so beautifully green. The crow once again dropped her freshest excreta onto my shoulders. It says something to me. Something innate. The messed up hairs of the electrocuted lady was too normal. It should be. What else? The look of the new beggar stoned me to the extremity of this world. It shot me like a cannon ball. Every light too can be seen inside a crematorium. Every sound. Every peace. Calm. Every fulfillment. Every sense of satisfaction. Every sense of regret. Every pain. Every happiness. Every union. Every separation. Every breath. Every silence. The strongest shout. Every order. Symmetry. The strongest bruise. Every language. The best actors.The best reals.The imaginary. The sun. The moon. Saturn. Understanding of the mystery and the failure of that. Let it be. Let it be.