She will pierce into that mirage of illusions. She will
strip you off that disguised identity and put you naked in front of your own
ego. She is a hazard, a natural phenomenon. But she will not stop until you
transform her into a disaster. Before she jeopardizes the idea of your very
existence, kill her.
Before she challenges
the illusory norms of the civilization you hold so close, destroy her; don’t
let her consume you. Because, you won’t be able to pause her rhythm. She will
make you her voice. Before you have to go through the pain of strangling her
after every turn on the road, kill her. This warrior was her identity, much before
you tried to give her one.
She was a rebel even
before you helped her walk the first step. She was not born to smell the roses
of your neighbour’s garden, she was the unusual flower that bloomed in the cactus
even though you never bothered to water that plant.
She will run in your veins and make you speak in a language you
never learnt before. She will make you remember things, you never thought you
knew. Do not try to comprehend the reason of her lucidity. She was never born,
neither would death call her home. No season would find solace in her, neither
would any wind carry her away. She is a fragment of a quest that knows nothing
about destination. She was risen from a place that causes tectonic plates to
shamble.
You will try to bury her, but how will your coffin contain
her? She does not belong to a physical body, what will you cremate? She has
nothing she calls her ‘own’, what will you put in her grave? You will try
setting her on fire, but even on her pilgrimage to death, her flames will unite
with many others.
She is a thought. She will burn, only to cause her flames merge with the fire
of another. When thoughts melt together, absolute reality takes form and all that remains in the discarded ruins is, a disaster.
