The Cold blues of the skies and its cosmic silence weighing down on his soul as a
rock sinking with no hopes in the deep calm oceans, with no hold or ties to
life. The pure and white snows of the Himalayas which once were the very
reflection of his soul now has become nothing but a mere cloak to hide what’s
beneath. Finally the time has come; his reason and in turn his very life has
started to dissolve, not a surprise. For quite a while now he knows what bound
him to life has disappeared from his memories and his soul; which eventually
would push him to the long sleep and search.
He fell down to the earth from the searing heights of Himalayas, what he was once, a majestic bird, with wings spanning across whole continents now a burning ball of fire, Triggering auroras in to the skies and watching souls alike. Colors too vivid to imagine now holding hands in silence witnessing the great fall, every flap of his wing in some deep corner of the universe giving rise to a star, spunning life in to the farthest reaches of the universes, the never ending cycle of his descent and awakening has begun. For what purpose he carried a shape for so long is now burnt in the boundless heat and sprayed as ashes across the appalling heights of the great mountains. In another way by losing his shape the mythical bird has become a bigger purpose, a reason beyond comprehension. once in every Billennia he loses his reason, the reason which holds him together as an entity and burns, the heat scorching the suns and stars but his soul lives on, searching for a purpose; the burned ashes being the carrier of his destiny, in his elemental form he remains an observer for centuries; looking for a worthy purpose, for his patience surpasses that of the Gods shaping life.
Centuries and millennia to him are mere seconds, his understanding of time is colossal, Eons may pass and he sleeps in silence knowing time is an illusion, why run behind it when you know you cannot catch up; what lies ahead is bound to come close, not left to anyone’s choice, even to one as powerful as himself, the only truth he understands is purpose.
When one knows what he is looking for; the mirage of time disappears, too focused on what you want, everything else becomes a blur. The vastness of the skies and the un-measurable distances are the places he dwells, now he has become shapeless, the very winds of the monsoons he was creating he has become himself, his eyes as focused as always begins the long search, for the purpose and to once again to find the reason.
People call him by various names, Hindu legends call him Garuda, the God of Birds, while western civilizations call him the Phoenix; he who raises from his own ashes. He neither cares for religions nor for races, the high skies are his kingdom he is the watcher of the earth and life and bringer of storms.
————————————————————————————————————
I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.
-Geetha
In his final moments he takes whole ships as if a pack of cards and tosses them unto the wind, teaching humbleness and humility, creating storms, moving mountains with the twitch of his fingers, and dispelling the illusion of eternity to all life looking; nothing is permanent; the skies roared alongside, but he himself is permanent thought the passing souls; he could hear them but chose not to answer for what they will never understand is that he may come alive as time passes, after eons, may be on another plane but he will never be himself without the same purpose, to the person who knows everything eternity as much as time is an illusion.
The final darkness dawns on as he gives up his slight grasps on reality and his memories and collapses in to silence, a silence so loud that it hurts eyes and ears of commons, closing his eyes he shuts out everything and starts his search for himself.
He fell down to the earth from the searing heights of Himalayas, what he was once, a majestic bird, with wings spanning across whole continents now a burning ball of fire, Triggering auroras in to the skies and watching souls alike. Colors too vivid to imagine now holding hands in silence witnessing the great fall, every flap of his wing in some deep corner of the universe giving rise to a star, spunning life in to the farthest reaches of the universes, the never ending cycle of his descent and awakening has begun. For what purpose he carried a shape for so long is now burnt in the boundless heat and sprayed as ashes across the appalling heights of the great mountains. In another way by losing his shape the mythical bird has become a bigger purpose, a reason beyond comprehension. once in every Billennia he loses his reason, the reason which holds him together as an entity and burns, the heat scorching the suns and stars but his soul lives on, searching for a purpose; the burned ashes being the carrier of his destiny, in his elemental form he remains an observer for centuries; looking for a worthy purpose, for his patience surpasses that of the Gods shaping life.
Centuries and millennia to him are mere seconds, his understanding of time is colossal, Eons may pass and he sleeps in silence knowing time is an illusion, why run behind it when you know you cannot catch up; what lies ahead is bound to come close, not left to anyone’s choice, even to one as powerful as himself, the only truth he understands is purpose.
When one knows what he is looking for; the mirage of time disappears, too focused on what you want, everything else becomes a blur. The vastness of the skies and the un-measurable distances are the places he dwells, now he has become shapeless, the very winds of the monsoons he was creating he has become himself, his eyes as focused as always begins the long search, for the purpose and to once again to find the reason.
People call him by various names, Hindu legends call him Garuda, the God of Birds, while western civilizations call him the Phoenix; he who raises from his own ashes. He neither cares for religions nor for races, the high skies are his kingdom he is the watcher of the earth and life and bringer of storms.
————————————————————————————————————
I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.
-Geetha
In his final moments he takes whole ships as if a pack of cards and tosses them unto the wind, teaching humbleness and humility, creating storms, moving mountains with the twitch of his fingers, and dispelling the illusion of eternity to all life looking; nothing is permanent; the skies roared alongside, but he himself is permanent thought the passing souls; he could hear them but chose not to answer for what they will never understand is that he may come alive as time passes, after eons, may be on another plane but he will never be himself without the same purpose, to the person who knows everything eternity as much as time is an illusion.
The final darkness dawns on as he gives up his slight grasps on reality and his memories and collapses in to silence, a silence so loud that it hurts eyes and ears of commons, closing his eyes he shuts out everything and starts his search for himself.
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