The earth has now finally flattened herself to rest. Who knew that her chaotic dance would come to this calm soliloquy. The winds do not carry the soil with them anymore and the water has eroded everything that stood around it. Everything has settled down as the new uniform muddy floor a few feet below the waters that cover the entire planet. There was no movement, no waves, no life but just the water profoundly reflecting the dead sky.
But not very far from the spot where the first rock carved by man had stood was the last rock he would carve. It jutted just a few feet above the water and was the only place left to stand on. On it lived the last man who spent days carving this island into what now looked like a marble coffin in the sea. It might be difficult to have a point of reference in such a place but I have seen men find a home between two steps in a stride. He worked without breaks and only rested on moonless nights. The tides did come in perfect intervals and he would simply let them pass under him. The mud was uniform but it moved and it raised him and his rock to the crests when the tides came.
It had been decades since he had last spoken or heard a word. he could not remember his own name but he remembered the name of the last human he had seen and it was a young man who called him The Scientist. His hands had completely cracked with exposure to the sun, the water and the salt. With these hands and whatever little fuel and metal that had remained, he built a capsule in which he had shot him into space.
Now sitting alone he thought a lot about his fellow men and how they used to make things out of rocks to leave behind their proofs of presence for the generations to come, proclaiming in one tongue or another rather simple words – “Yes! I too had lived.” each such wail only wanted to be found in this ocean filled with noise. Everyone had their rock carved and left it here to be found but The Scientist was sure that no one would see what he would leave, even if it were the best rock ever to be in this sea.
The cosmos laughs on us my friend, the cosmos laughs on you and me.
As we fight battles or make love through the night
Like the fools we are, we try to subdue its laugh with gunfire and passionate moans
giving meanings to its billion toothed smile.
Yet we can’t help but stop and look up, every now and then,
On this night and more, my friend, the cosmos laughs on us.
I look at images of big influential cities slowly embracing the evening with sunsets that turn the sky into a painting of a holy battle between the cold and the warmth. The glare of the day’s dying god bounces off the colossal glass structures diffusing into a mellow orange. I can’t help but drift off and think of the lives of the people out on those streets in that moment, holed up in their apartments, coming home from work early, putting on their shoes to go somewhere else, feeding the cats, returning from funerals, studying for an exam the next day – I try to see them all. I consider the story of each and every one of them and feel like a benevolent crease of the universe experiencing itself but then my head begins to hurt which makes me quickly stop. All of them so precious but all of them will someday cease to be. Limited and occupied, I realize, I am just like them.
And there is something very special about sunsets. People write about mornings all the time but to me, mornings feel limited – they have a single direction and purpose and are generally the same for everyone. Sunsets are where one sees possibilities. If you need to really study humans, look at them during sunsets – the variance in their plans for the remaining hours will overwhelm you. It is the time when people start getting fidgety at work, it is when the self-enforced monotony starts losing its grip. And at a particular moment, not a fixed time though, it breaks – as if it were waiting for that one streetlamp to turn on earlier than usual.
Looking far into the future, these buildings that proudly reflect the evening will also fade away into new structures of either either man or nature. Only the orange hue of days like these would probably remain. I wish it does. It is all that matters.