He’s standing still catching the fleeting glimpses of the quagmired people. He walks slowly, his back towards them and so it starts…

He’s here, among us, the smoke charring his lungs, rising like a slow serpent, coiling around his neck, gripping his head, rising above slowly, almost soothingly, swaying him with itself.

He twitches his neck in rapid movement, to me it looks like a soft, smooth conscious sway. He looks at us and laughs, fickle at first, almost childishly then in continuous drumming thuds.

They say loosing yourself this way is dangerous, reckless. For us, it’s the only way we find ourselves.

He closes his eyes, the music seeps in his veins, running through his blood, filling up his lungs, his heart and his unchained mind. Floyd.

He is no longer imprisoned in the shackles of his own mind, he’s enslaved to this momentary delusional freedom.

Another drag inhaled, he floats in the dense air, ecstatic, envisioning life the way you don’t see it, the way you can never see it.

The room trips with the holy music, but we are atheists. The lights fade out, then zoom in, colors drench the dark silhouettes, patterns shake the redundant stationary objects.

Everything is alive and so he smiles,we snigger.

You might call us foolish, irresponsible, immature. But life, is just a mind-game, all that you touch, all that you feel, all that you say, all that’s become and all that will be.

In here, we are free, from you, your prejudices, your principles of restricted living, your ideas, your false hopes, your sins.

In here, we have our own Heaven.

Pramati Anand