The Phantom Within
It is an ordinary insignificant day, sitting at a coffee shop early in the morning with nothing but my insomniac body.
My weary self leading its way out of the subtle daily chores, to have a calm morning coffee, preferably black.
The situation reminds me of how the coffee keeps on getting colder by the seconds and my intolerance of screaming babies.
I shuffle in my seat irritably, hoping the mother would calm him down. I shudder, containing myself from screaming back at the baby only to tell him, you think you’re screaming loud enough, wait until you’re a grown-up with a muted one.
The baby keeps on screaming in his seat. God knows he is either foretold his future or the human mechanism is only about screaming.
And with the breath I dwell into my mind, my personal palace.
Once again, the palace is conjured by an absurd realism that I exist only because I make believe I do. Other than that, I am barely on the verge of existence. I push the thought away; my sleep deprivation says as much.
I wait, as I know she’ll soon enough emerge from the depth of my soul.
The, me that’s the same.
She’s the one person I admire the most.
She resides behind my eyes, in the depth of my pupils, watching through me, observing with me, and accompanying me in the world’s darkest of nights.
Without her, my childhood would have been a disappointment,
My teenage years would have been hellbound.
and my adulthood — well —
She fed on my insecurities, drank up my sorrows, and clutched onto my pain with such ferocity I would have thought she would eventually use them against me. Little did I know she generated them as ammunition of imagination.
She always takes an extra breath and sighs quite more than should. She hates the day and adores the night. The night, where she speaks and I listen intently, creating worlds out of the ordinary, with its characters and their stories.
She loves a casual drink every now and then. Believing it mends the soul and sparks up the mind.
She speaks through me, and with me.
She barges in unattended and disrupts my social being into the most awkward one.
She’s always ecstatic, dancing on the edge of her world, tiptoeing her way over the thin ledge as though her life counted on the fall. The impact.
She dictates my mind every night, drives through the most absurd lanes of abstract realities.
She makes my brain whirl in the most amazing intoxicating ways.
She speaks to me so loudly, the words come out of my mouth unintended, that I have long lost hope in trying to prove to people I wasn’t crazy.
She dances like a ballerina within me, swinging with words, stories, and poems. Gets drunk with the manifestation of my mind. She tolls and rolls with ideas and obscure ideologies that make reality a dressing gown, that we will eventually lose to embrace the nakedness of the spirit.
She’s me, and I am her. We are the same.
She hides behind the curtains of my pupils and observes mockingly the functions of the world.
She knows one day, she will win the fight. She knows for a fact, I was bound to doom.
The social ties, the obligation to exist in the normality of our world will be demolished into us, that’s one. No longer the same. But one.
I was once asked, why do I hide her, the me that’s the same.
I shuddered, twitched my face as she surfaced.
If only you’d know, the much we’ve screamed to speak the truth.
How we were always torn between the loudness of the mind and the silences of the mouth.
We survived but scarcely lived.
We fought our way through social duties,
Until it became so easy, we forgot it wasn't ours.
If only you’d know, that I once intended to choke the life out of her.
Condemn her into oblivion.
But she only grew louder and wilder. Ferocious and dignified.
And now everything I do, I do it for her.
I should have known better, life is a flight and I was bound to oblivion.
But everything I do will be carried with her. By her.
Then he said, “let her show.”
She had long thrived to be seen and she was already taking over.
I was already losing the exhausting, yet enthralling fight.
She is me, and I am her.
But soon enough, we’ll be one.
And quite frankly, I don’t really know which one of us has written this poem.