The End

“I’m lying, I am afraid”

Well, in Oliver Stone’s version of THE DOORS these were the words of Jimmy just before song “The End”. One of my dear friends asked me the importance of this song, it’s real meaning, interpretation of lyrics. As the literature and internet search history goes, we find that this was one of Jimmy’s early compositions written when he broke up with his girlfriend.

Well, in a certain way it makes sense.

“This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end”

The song starts off with lines that mark the beginning of an End. Now even though it might have been written for a girl, these lines make perfect sense when put to use with anything. The Oneness given by Jimmy through this song is what makes his poetry special.

“No safety or surprise, the end”

(Shaila-) Here comes a line when (in context of his GF) Jimmy seems to be talking of the intimate times spent together by both of them. An intricate and yet beautiful line depicting the sex they had ( I intentionally avoided any sort of euphemism). Jimmy shares his fear with his ex, that during this entire process the humane soul is most vulnerable, the feelings have all surfaced, and they are locked in each other’s arm, he might lose himself.

“Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some..stranger's hand
In a...desperate land”

Well, I guess with the reference to the context the song might make sense. However what attracts me to the song is more of its metaphorical nature. For me this song is about putting an End to this entire galore of society and its laws shaping human mind. With all literature I have read I understand that a man’s Id is most active when he is a baby, or a kid. As time progresses a combination of civilization, family, laws, dos and don’ts tries to subdue the “id”, and make him more appropriate for the system. Now when we look at the above lines we find a request, a commandment, an appeal to break free of all that is trying to bind the real you.

Why should anyone be afraid of any feelings that feels and emotions he stumbles across? Feelings are good and bad, they are your feelings, why can’t anyone be true to himself and not placate them. Now re-read the lines,

“Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some..stranger's hand
In a...desperate land”

I hope you are getting a hint of what I am trying to say. The entirety of anyone being himself, comes along with the term “Insanity”, “Crazy” and “Weird”, but these are just the terms coined by society again for the things they don’t understand. Imagine a herd of sheep is going south, one of the young ones, just turns around and says, “Hey, I feel like I want to go North, you guys carry on” – any guesses on what the herd would say?

I believe that a big reason why he loved snake was its nature. However, since we are talking in metaphorical sense, it can be compared to all the weird things you have to do to go where you always want to. If you are scared to do it, can you ever do it?

However, interestingly – Jimmy makes a call about the Blue Bus, as far as the historical reference goes, it is just a reference to the public transport that would serve his area in Venice beach. The message indicated by these lines is to catch one and ride to the west. Simply leave everything that you have been bound to and go out on a wild ride.

And well, the last and the most controversial part of the song, gets its reference from the Odepius complex. Again in the metaphorical world – it talks of killing everything you are taught.

It’s the most beautiful poem ever written.

गुफ्तगू (फज्र)

आज की ये शाम,

कुछ खफा-खफा सी लगती है मुझे,

जाने क्यूँ, अनजानी, अनसुनी सी लगती है,

क्यूँ, वो पत्थरों से होने वाली मधिम गुफ्तगू

आज चुपचाप-सी है,

इक सन्नाटा सा है,

जो फुसफुसाता है धीरे- धीरे,

कि "आँखें खोल ले , ए-दोस्त,

और सुन- उस दस्तक को जो खुद-बखुद इशारे से

तुझे बुला रही है"

इक ख़ामोशी का आलम सा छाया हुआ है

इस तरह, कि अपने साथियों के साथ भी

खुल के नहीं हँसता अब दिल,

कभी बीती हुई रातों को,

कभी भूली हुई यादों को,

कभी बिसरी हुई बातों को,

कभी बेजान-से उन वादों को,

गिन-गिन कर, काटता है दिन को,

थोड़ी तस्सल्ली भी देता है

कि "ओ इंसान, अब तू ज्यादा मजबूत है"

फिर - मैं यूँही इठलाता जब थोडा खुश होता,

तो ये सनकी दिल,

और रूखी रूह फिर बोलती,

"अरे, हम तो मज़ाक कर रहे थे"

शायद इन लतीफों कि दरिया में ही

गुम ना हो जाऊं,

पर ये तय है,

कि उस तन्हा बरगद की तरह,

मुस्कुराता रहूँगा

- अक्स

(Image courtesy- Google)

THE INDIAN FUTURISM: THE WAR OF THE POET AFTER DEATH OF GOD (Foreword to GOD IS DEAD - by Azsacra Zarathustra)

Before I publish the foreword, here is a synopsis of GOD IS DEAD, my second book - a collection of 30 poems.

"GOD IS DEAD – based on Nietzsche’s principle (Gott ist Tot), is a collection of Poems by Akshat “The Reflection” Sharma. It talks of this underlying subtle transformation of a man into a beast- of how howls are often too silent to heard- of how a beast is concealed within a human soul. A journey of an endless vigil that often reaches out to eternal continuum of time. It is often desired – to puncture through those hallucinating moments of one’s life that are often referred to as PAST , and to break-free of all Future.

Remember – God is Dead "

Below is the foreword to my second book by renowned philosopher, poet and revolutionary Azsacra Zarathustra.

THE INDIAN FUTURISM:

THE WAR OF THE POET AFTER DEATH OF GOD

[«I might give it a shot!»]

Never,

Nought,

Neglect ,

Negate; Seeds of destruction planted

Like pack of explosives

[Akshat Sharma]

Can the modern Indian poetry contrary to all [directly here and now!] to change inculcated, compelled, false a vector of «a tolerant course» and suddenly aggressively to jump, to strike, to soar, to rise Upwards – in Brahmanical Heavens? Can the Indian poet, like Kshatriya, sacrificially and bravely to rise in real Fighting Spirit and ruthlessly to reject from himself the world of hateful false «economic values», including here coercive, insignificant, monetary a «horizontal humanism» of the British literary usurers? Yes! – it is unconditional! But only under the most severe observance of the Supreme Laws of the maximum Over-Creating Aggression as Will to Power. Through the maximum irrational War of Words!… with the help of Battle of the most explosive Fighting Mantras and the Attacking Conjurations:

It’s hard to free muscles now,

Easier to clinch them;

A fist is forever ready to kaput and bust open,

To turn your flesh, pale

To turn these sands, red.

The Indian poet, like Aghori, should declare Itself precisely: «I am a God!». And this Poet, really, should become Real Fearsome God or [at choice of Death!] his secret Natural Antagonism, perhaps, Sacred addition, the Mysterious Werewolf… the Rabid Wolf («None was worthy of that madness, Yes None!»). Id est for the Indian Poet without Aggression of Hinduism – there is no Masterpiece of God! Therefore young Indian poet Akshat Sharma at once [in his new book «God is Dead»] without fluctuation, severely and fearlessly questions: «Am I cruel?»

Celebrate the death of man ...

A jarred feeling of emptiness ...

Or get up and kill the sisters,

Weaving the threads ...

Each authentic Indian Poet inside himself initially knows: the True Poetry is only the Action of Spiritual Mutiny – strictly strengthening contrary to everything, in own heart, the Vertical Line of Pure and Free Spirit to Break!

For at night, moon mocks,

While sun,

It just helps me burn.

They aid the change.

Differently, for Akshat Sharma the needful quintessence of the poet is the «Transformation of heart into claws», «Eternal stars burn» and clearing «Puke on heaven’s door». On a forehead of the authentic Poet, undoubtedly, there is an ancient and sacred Seal of the Curse, Seal of the Beast, but at the same time without this Bloody Seal any, even very «glorified poet», can't be the True Magical Prophet and/or the Oracle of the New Language.

Walk to caves, while that lion inside runs away,

Timid and aggravated.

Get inside, for you don’t need invitations

To square up your own flesh before it burns.

For each instinctive Poet-Werewolf there is the Eternal Truth: even if God doesn't exist [but He exists!], here is important the concrete physical Death of God in the form of the man and/or an animal – Avatar, but not his truth of the «furtive existence or not-existence». Therefore the Nietzsche’s formula «God is dead» [«Gott ist todt»] there is the most deep point of assemblage of this Poet from capital letter of Curse and Mutiny. From here it will be better, if «my heart… not shelter you» and «I am wearing a mask – forever, even for myself». And is really:

Aren’t you wary of these blank faces?

Harnessing superficial impulses?

Or others, more disturbing questions:

Do you love god? Why?

Do you fear devil? Why?

What makes them different?

All world as before is confused! The world as before is Samsara, the Maya… It, as well as in the Buddha's time, lies just in that deception, where villainous corporations of «false spirit» is hiding the Regal Vertical Line of Light behind the primitive and heavy answers of the «horizontal». The world as before doesn't dare to assume the vertical, ascending Riddle of Death of God, as a basis for the Higher Life of Spirit. To accept the Luxury of Excess of Death and the Triumph of Eternal Struggle – Will to Power! In other words: the world always merely the cowardly brake and lags behind Terrifying Speed of Death of God! Therefore for Akshat Sharma: «All that remains [in the world] is Nothingness», or the optical illusion – «gold delusional!» – for economic fools. Everything that does not Fly up and doesn't aggressively erupt to Up, there is an illusion or the «stupidly-monetary Maya», a conceited «human rubbish heap», but not Poetry.

Will you still be alive,

When the drapery falls?

Forever?

All these pompous «human values» are only nonsensical philistine bosh! A baloney! A trifle! Nonsense! From here inevitably there is a Struggle of each Mutinous Heart against all kinds and the forms of the human lie, which ostensibly forever have gained a foothold, i.e. it is the implacable «conflicting [even!] with conundrum of chaos»:

But, sands shall rise today,

For obliterated meadows shall show

Your way,

Eternally,

To eternity,

If only I’d die, I’d be happy, veiled tenets

Yes. Here Akshat Sharma ruthlessly once, twice, thrice is right: only after «Death of God» naturally are arising the most tragical Ordeals, Battles and Riddles of Pure Spirit and Will to Power. Only these Mutinous Tragical Riddles is the Proud Light and the Sign of Liberation for the Übermensh. «I search myself» and therefore me interests only William Blake's the Triumph of «The Marriage of Heaven and Hell», as well as Merge of the Earth and Heavens without cowardice of paradise, hope and rescue. Beyond of Good and Evil! Only one the pure and dynamic question of movement of Mutinous Force is remaining important for the Poet-Beast:

For how long will you run, o beast?

For how long will you tear your own flesh?

For how long will you search your prey?

«Forever, Never. I can't tell you...» – only so the Sacred Poetic Beast answers and continues to run further… Continues to run further in spite of the fact that there is NO PLACE to run already and in front only the TRAPS are waiting him. Yet: «Will you believe that pain in my nerves while I answer that hypnotic test?»… what the test-text? The hypnotic Text of Death of God!

Why do they consider us separate?

When without one, other won’t exist;

Are these thoughts mine?

Or is it you fiddling with my mind?

Can you control me?

Are you my master? Do everything I do is on your command?

Exactly so! The brave Death of God is always better, than shameful and slavish «life hypnosis» of the «one-dimensional man». The Evil Wisdom of the Wolf as Death of God is always better than any «kind lie» and «eternal, too all eternal» Mankind Preservation.

I want to enter the church of all wolves,

Taste the drops of that holy water dripping,

From bowls of baptism;

Witnessing flights of flying lions,

While they roar and

Drop dead – still alive.

Therefore, when Akshat Sharma does the poetic signature: «Yours, Only yours, Mortal Man», he use cunning here, because the Akshat-Wolf knows that he is more Beast, than the man. He – the Holy Wolf, Which beyond of God and the man, but always on the side of all the brothers wolves: «With their paws making way through shattered and broken glass»… The Truth of Poetry Doesn't tell lies as a man, but lies as dead God, which suddenly, being fascinated his Own Absolute Emptiness, ceases, at last, as a «divine milksop» to jabber away and concoct the paradisiacal cock-and-bull story's about the himself obligatory and instructive Resurrection. To hell! Dash you! Because for True Poetry is much more important «Slithering snakes, flying eagles...», but Not own [essentially] «god».

Boils of fury would have been enough

But the burn of existentialism is far worse

Than ashes of death ...

Or:

Insomnia,

Haunting Birds

Beasts don’t sleep at night;

They wander,

Reflect your judgment,

Not all who wander are lost, they have lost.

Id est for the Akshat-Wolf Great Harmony yet is possible, but this Great Harmony is a merge of the Beast and Light, Heavens and Lightning Flash! This Harmony is possible only in the presence of the one Terrifying and Ruthless Order:

CELEBRATE THE DEATH OF MAN!

They call me brutal;

I growl;

And so I can say I live.

मैं,

मै, तो सिर्फ एक मुलाजिम हूँ

नाम चाहे जो भी दो

Poetic «blasphemy» of Akshat Sharma – it is his real, but concealed and revenging «I» of Holy Wolf, and simultaneously, am there is an «sly cover-up» for Covert Revenge of The one Who isn't known even for Akshat-Wolf: «Often your own questions / Answer, long unsolved riddle»… And consequently: «Your god never believed his god». Because this «God is dead!» And all around – only «Flowers of his fray». From here are originating the Secret of Hatred at Poet to the «poetry» and its false «good»:

Befriend the wars,

Befriend the grave-digger

Befriend the bullet to bless your temple and serve blasphemies to daggers and acronyms

Befriend the tear-drops and oceans

Befriend the holy unification

Befriend the abyss and heavens

Befriend earth and birds, dogs and wolves

Befriend the needle-woman and her meadows

Befriend the bushes and fields

Befriend …….

To whom? To whom «Befriend» in the first and last out of the queue? – To Dead God!! Because «It’s all in a cryptic script» – vigorously and confidently tells poet-futurist Akshat Sharma: «I might give it a shot!»… What for? So as to realize only One: «Am I cruel?». But you…

You can float within and

Above.

Text-manifesto by Azsacra Zarathustra,

Editorial Advisor for the journal

«Harvests of New Millennium»

[India]