Infinity.

What people think of infinity, belittles it. Infinity was never meant to be defined or used, it was meant to be the darkest patch undercover of the surface of our being, as far as it could be. It was supposed to be left alone and untouched, like the tomb on a martyrs grave.
  But there is something about infinity that fascinates me equally well, the fact that it is ubiquitous and at the same time not present at all. It is a mere concept designed to bind the sanity with multiple ropes of inability and duplicitous testimony of the unattainable.
   Infinity is beyond reach, and well, so is the universe. But who could be sure if the universe could be infinite too, for it exists within our mind and soul and within every probability of an action and its reciprocation. If a womb can hold a universe subjugated by nothing but ecstasy, is it really infinite?
Does Infinite really exist?

Is it not just tomfoolery that we are expected to learn and know infinity when we don’t understand it? It is stupid of us to think that what we do resonates in the infinity and comes back as the reward or punishment of our doings. Well no, there is an infinity attached to every doing and then another attached to that one, and the cycle never ends. So what comes back of it? I’ll tell you, what comes back is a leeway to inheriting the various forms of truth and fallacy, the one that decides the legitimacy of what actions can do and what they couldn’t.

  What comes to the succour in the midst of a lone night at the terrace with and empty pack of Marlboro and an unfiltered void in the heart is more infinite than anything.

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2 thoughts on “Infinity.

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