I felt a funeral, inside my Brain

It’s an allegory of the mind. Perhaps the astute reader (not I) would understand what the poet wanted to convey with her thoughts that is spiraling..or so it would seem. If one can read between each lines, I am in sync with the poem.  I am losing the part where I am supposed to articulate the thoughts which threads but fell on the way side instead. I am garbling the very essence of what I want and need to understand and (un) consciously digest. LIfe and the eccentricities my mind has to endure to cope with eloquence I want to connect with, somehow, I always talk out loud without verbalizing anything. And I always reason with myself too.

I keep thrusting this veiled notions of life I speak of and the streams of conventional crap that nobody even listens to or read. I don’t think that there is mental anguish to speak of, but I am lax with my thoughts. I don’t really want to go to the extremes and pour shits stuff. There are instances when I feel that the mind has annihilate the sentiments I want shout out. I lose the eloquence., somehow. I just relate some mindless babble and then thats it. Mind goes numb. But I’m okay. In the end I can always say whatever I want in the manner in which I want to and the way I would like someone to understand.

I think a lot. I hardly say anything. That’s how I am most times. I can endure things because the words faith and fate would always stay conscious. I had thought of what would happen if.. but I never thought of really wanting to. No, nothing to do with death or anything like that. Far from it, though once it seeped into my mind but it’s only to appease a question lurking within.

Right now there is stop motion thing in my brain. I have no idea as to what I’m uttering here and what it’s for. Sane people thinks of something insane. I guess I’m too dam perplex in ways I have to laugh at myself.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing – then –

~Emily Dickinson~


About this entry