The Labyrinth of Literature

There was once a head isolated from the rest of its body. It was discarded into a box and was taken out only once in a while when it was required to prove evidence of its once together – body and history. The head faced difficulties sharing that box with a set of books that were under a habit of getting into contradictory battles – all trying to prove their own selves right. And yes, there was communism too – but only in groups and rest were almost always – allies.

The books surprisingly had gravity and they played football with head’s heavy sight. The head was tired of getting attracted to some or the other. after every once in a while a stronger book used to call it by its side. So the head once decided to stop being pulled to any book. He hid inside a hollow corner – far beyond gravity’s gyre. But the destiny was smart too. It put some memories inside. the head had this nature – which was less powerful than memories’ gyre.

The head was intact but the life was strangely the same – getbye. Earlier books had become ideas and memories side by side. All charged - the head suddenly wanted to return to that old fate. Where there were dreams of other characters and he was at a distance from real wry. but now there was no escape – the memories had controlled its better side.

its desperation to return suddenly caused a disaster thereby. The boundary burst into pieces and it faced both literature and its idea – close by. Though at times head had relief now, cause the ideas were busy distinguishing  those books in lows and highs. And yet the same controversies made him so hyper at times.

The struggle was eternal and this the head knew. Till he found another box – to which it could have flew – to yet again undergo the same karmic creations. The head had no different fate than those of his imaginations.

              

Mystical Wanderer