The pain of losing a brother Brother is no more. If his existence has ceased to be, it has stirred the existence of many others. Just one event has made the existence so terrible that I pity, not knowing what; the existence that has ceased to be or the one that stands stirred and shaken? But elders say that our existence attains importance only once we realize the fact that someday it would cease to be. The grief that he is no more is immense and the pain is persistent and recurring. Every moment I try to intellectualize the death in general and the death of my brother in particular, I find a varied conclusion my mind reaching to. While as, I find all the philosophies and logic helping me rationalize the former, I fail to reconcile with the later. The reason appears to be a causality of the mind the body of which is to be put under guillotine. The entire world, I feel, would fail to compensate one moment of my brother’s life. I can understand this is selfishness: one with huge proportions considering the fact that thousands lose their lives on daily basis and thousands would continue to lose, but again I dare say, nothing can compensate the death of my brother. The simple reason for me to endorse my view is that it is only when the, will to live, in one’s being is active that the whole physical and sensual world is of some importance to one. I feel the will to live is the bridge between a person and the cosmos –both micro and macro-that lies across the bridge, but when the bridge stands broken, the things across assume meaninglessness and futility. The death of my brother has emaciated my will to live the life. Things have ceased to appear the way they used to appear before his death. By all proportions, it is a tragedy; one of helplessness and of desperation, of despair, of listlessness, of hopelessness, of morbidity and of manifest crisis. When the atmosphere is filled with the wheezing sounds of the gushes of cold air, I could hear your occasional phlegmatic sniffs while you are approaching my house. The cough and the wheezing which was so typical of you and that warm smile on that squarish face and that assured gait which was so full of confidence is now the property of some other world is hard to believe. Brother, no man would ever have shared such an ambivalent relationship with death as am I. I detest it, for its visiting you like this and I love it for me craving for it because without you everything seems to be so sinister and gloomy and death alone seems to be the road that could make me reach you. The essence of life is love and when that stands broken there is no fun to live. I feel like, walking wounded, a corpse on a retreating run. Brother, you are no more. It is not only your death but in your death something of all of us is dead. The game of death continues as with the journey of every moment something of us ceases to be. Shakespeare sums it up. “my heart is heavy and mine age is weak; grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.” Courtesy:- #Kashmirupdateslive
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 16:47:56 +0000
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