Lonely Trap ⇒ Kirno Sohochari

When I dialed the number, she received: ‘What happened?’ It was unrealistic for me to think about how she received my call from nowhere. I was worried, anxiously seeking her help to rescue me and so answered: ‘I’m trapped in a car, please save me.’ Her voice as if it was coming through the ghostly tunnel: ‘What are you saying? You’re trapped in a car; but how?’ I was seated alone in the car just like a nomadic ‘nobody’; was shocked by the traumatic imprisonment and deserted in the full moon night;—who from that moment was eagerly seeking ‘someone’ will come as a savior. I respond: ‘The car is locked by sudden when I drive. Believe me, the road is empty. No one has seen over in the lonely hell can help me to get out of this trap.’ 

Unfinished Trap_2_2

Image Source: Freedom in a Lonely Road; wallhaven.com

… I know this is my last chance to escape the net where I trapped badly; perhaps it was my fault or someone else. Does it matter deep? The question itself is trapped here to its spider net. Whatever the answer be, death is chasing me behind. The reason is clear now,—life is nothing but the same old resonance of love and hatred, resonates the perfectly tuned ‘Cock a doodle do’ over and again;—so I’ve to run until they shot me.
… … …

She was stunned bit a moment; perhaps to imagine what I’ve said and answered me throwing her exotic voice over the cellphone: ‘Oh really, you’re in danger! Nevertheless, what can I do for you? Is it possible for me helping you out when I am strolling in somewhere else, actually that is nowhere? I have no significance, to deal with the trouble you are trapped in’. What she said was true. I forget that she has no more belonging in this mockery world to help me. What a mess! Her voice is not magical as it was before, even her vanishing moment to the rooftop. 

I was there; she is walking on the rooftop and her eyes were close off. What a moment when she was leaned onto the railing with unspeakable silence, completely unaware that I am following her! Her eyes were remarkably lonesome on that moment of silence when I pushed her slightly to flying nowhere; and, she rolled down from the top like a perfectly tuned rolling stone! I pushed her because we both have reached the point of no return. We were tired of tolerating each other. The happiest days have sunk in the mist and we were tortured by going through the hellish tunnel of distrust, of mistake, and misguidance. Fact is, we were roaming around the fence; was loony to say goodbye;—to deliver the bitter words,—‘enough is enough. Now, let exit’. 

The moment was coming alluring to send her in nowhere and I did this as people rented the cool-headed professional to kill somebody with cleverness and garnished perfection. Satisfactory for me who was eager to escape the madding social tide; what you people are very fond of calling family time to breed your replication for future. Natural for anybody who abruptly feels the pain in his back head that he will no more beside the scary windows to suck the morning sunshine or moonlighted night by greedily grasping his beloved’s slick waist. Nesting life means the bunch of lovemaking battle amid beloveds for birthing their resonance over again before sinking in the muddy graveyard. Having engaged with the massive fun or laughter and quarrel and by sudden we shocked to pick the extreme moment that the taste has gone forever. Sad, but truth has appeared with the cruelty that we two are inept stimulating each other to make the quick doodle do; for the sake of continuity, that is, somebody has to be involved who sent us here and compelled us begetting the resonance over again, so life can go by even after we’ve melted into the dust. 

Unfinished Trap_9

Image Source: Abandoned in Minimalism; wallhaven.cc

… The moment appeared a ricochet of the freedom seeker who once chained and teased repeatedly by his unforgiving master. I was shining to think about the compassion that she or maybe the unknown somebody has given to me.
… … …

The separation was inevitable and deportation as well; just because of the fact that ‘me and she’ were caught in the nasty web but even trying to act happily by hiding the truth that the taste has gone. The relation between ‘me and she or you and me or he and she’ is nothing but a reminder of the nursery rhyme ‘Cock a doodle doo’. Be honestly speaking the moment was coming along with the amusement when she fell down to the rooftop like a rolling stone, this downfall provoked my heart singing the nursery rhyme with amused laughter:- 

Cock a doodle do!
What is my dame to do?
Till master’s found his fiddlingstick,
She’ll dance without her shoe.
Cock a doodle do!

My dame has found her shoe,
And master’s found his fiddlingstick,
Sing cock a doodle do!
Cock a doodle do!

My dame will dance with you,
While master fiddles his fiddlingstick,
And knows not what to do.

Yeah, I was victimized and captured by the amazement of ‘knows not what to do’; and engaging me to escape the madding nest where this terrible fall down happened just a moment before. Somebody dictates me to flee away from the scene, to reach somewhere where nobody knows from whence I arrived. I was committed to doing this, fled away by driving the car and whispering the sweetest song with little bit clarification: ‘Hey! She will dance with me/ the right moment though ain’t comes in,/ meanwhile, I fiddle the violin with fiddlingstick/ Hey, I fiddle the violin yeah,/ knows not what to do’. My plan works so far until the threatening moment has arrived as a reminder that I’m trapped. The car is not working and it may destine by somebody that I’ll be locked in the car until death has arrived to send me nowhere! 

Unfinished Trap_5

Image Source: Charlotte Evans, the Big Leap, 2013; Leap into Blue; igetitart.com

… Her eyes were remarkably lonesome on that moment of silence when I pushed her slightly to flying nowhere; and, she rolled down from the top like a perfectly tuned rolling stone! I pushed her because we both have reached the point of no return. We were tired of tolerating each other. The happiest days have sunk in the mist and we were tortured by going through the hellish tunnel of distrust, of mistake, and misguidance. Fact is, we were roaming around the fence; was loony to say goodbye;—to deliver the bitter words,—‘enough is enough. Now, let exit’.
… … …

The moon is just top over the sky, steadily remitting its stigmatic glimpse around the vehicle. No one has seen over the hellish road, except for the notorious moonlighted night, and from this moment for God knows how the music player of my car dashboard starts playing Yehudi Menuhin! He looked excited and sharpened on D Major as if it reminds me of the days when I met her in the autumn. The day was memorable and we hugged each other by hiding our existence in the snow-white catkins field. A relation between ‘she and me or whatever it could be’ is the token of memorable happiness. We both have blood ties for such long days, having attached with the ecstasy of singing lovemaking songs, as the lonely moon and lonesome Yehudi Menuhin now flickering around the cursed vehicle. The moment is not soothing to please my soul through the violin boozer. Reality is,—I’m trapped; trying over again smashed the locked door but failed once more like a damn poor old man, he once trapped in a hole and became dry because none was there who can save him to the labyrinth. 

I dialed her again and she throwing her parched voice from the ghostly cellphone: ‘sorry, I have nothing to do here. You should wait for the police vehicle. Until they arrived here to arrest you—let fucked by yourself dear.’ What a rude consolation to my former whom I loved once and later wait for the chance so I can send her to the grave of nowhere! I should have some regret for what I have done before. However, we were standing on the edge of denial. The planned incident that happened on the rooftop will never be rectifiable. We cannot restore the past for rectification. At best we could groan to remember the incident, counting the loss may also be possible, even though we cannot change or rectify what happened in those past days. 

Perhaps I was lunatic at that moment or could be she provoked me showing lunacy that I have steered for long days. There was no reason might exist between us that could save me to the danger. Murdering your beloved ones is not a crime when somebody failed to dispose of whom he loves is not inclined to love him in return. The reverse as well should true here. It might be feasible to think I was abortive realizes her agony against me; perhaps I was never worried to reconsider the fact that she still having the same pain and fragility about me underneath her glace skin. 

Unfinished Trap_3

Image Source: Edvard Munch, The Lonely Ones, 1899, © Munchmuseet; artfund.org

… I should have some regret for what I have done before. However, we were standing on the edge of denial. The planned incident that happened on the rooftop will never be rectifiable. We cannot restore the past for rectification. At best we could groan to remember the incident, counting the loss may also be possible, even though we cannot change or rectify what happened in those past days.
… … …

This is the first time kinda regret instantly possessed me to reconsider the act that I have done before. Feeling pity now insisted me for saying sorry to her; who is now no more in here but surely strolling in the ‘somewhere’ that may analogical with ‘nowhere’. Curiosity as well captured me on the moment of my exilement in the damn locked car, and I disposed of me with tenderness: ‘forgive me dear for what happened before. I had no intention to send you in nowhere, but my blind agony has driven me for doing this. I was doomed by the instinct that you must go in the graveyard before some unknown has peeping out to the catkins field,—offering himself as your beloved ones

Love is blind honey. I haven’t any fear of death but rolling down to the rooftop even sounds better than where I placed now. Looks honey, fastened by death in a locked car is more sinister than all other ways death may arrive to embrace a man. I think you locked me to take revenge. If it is true then there are myriad ways of ensuring one’s death that you can use. I’ve no objection if you beheading me in this lonesome road where the moon is still shining over the dark-blue sky; and, looks Mr. Yehudi Menuhin also be alive in his D Major as a reminder of delicacy that life is yet even beautiful despite the monstrous absence of beloved ones whom you caring best.’ 

It seemed she bit convinced that I feel regret. The locked door unfolded by sudden, giving me a chance to take a departure from the damn car. The moment appeared a ricochet of the freedom seeker who once chained and teased repeatedly by his unforgiving master. I was shining to think about the compassion that she or maybe the unknown somebody has given to me. What a fool I am! Immediately realized when she again transmitted her voice to my cellphone with maddening laughter: ‘Oh my God! You’ll never change, still halted on your diabolic perfection of lying, blaming me yet that I locked you in the car. Ain’t that funny? 

Unfinished Trap_6

Image Source: Hopper meditations: Richard Tuschman: Pink Bedroom (Window Seat), 2013; artsandculturetx.co 

… Natural for anybody who abruptly feels the pain in his back head that he will no more beside the scary windows to suck the morning sunshine or moonlighted night by greedily grasping his beloved’s slick waist. Nesting life means the bunch of lovemaking battle amid beloveds for birthing their resonance over again before sinking in the muddy graveyard. Having engaged with the massive fun or laughter and quarrel and by sudden we shocked to pick the extreme moment that the taste has gone forever.
… … …

Listen, nothing remains for me that I could use for taking revenge against the heinous act you’ve done before. Punishing you would never back my days what I’ve lost. You ripped off me honey. Sending me such places from where none can escape. Anyway, I nevermind, because of the new taste you have given it makes me free to take the tiresome burden of life anymore. Look, I’ve neither any objection to you nor demanding any confession that you killed me by chance. What be the benefit of such a claimant? Your confession seems meaningless to me; since it inept to back my days what I’ve left behind. 

You trapped by yourself. Believe me, I’m not the trapper. Your feeling of guilty locked you in the damn car. None is there who appears as a rescuer for you in this lonely vain. Your repentance now appeared here as a remedy to unlocking the car. However, it’s too late for you! The police vehicle has already pepping on the road. Unfortunate, your car again locked by leaving you standing outside. The only wish what I can repeat for you, that is,—run baby…run; try to escape the net where you are trapped in. Run baby until they send you to jail for death execution. Sorry, the future will not fair looking for you, honey! 

Unfinished Trap_1

Image Source: Moonlight Drive: lifeisaroad.com

… The separation was inevitable and deportation as well; just because of the fact that ‘me and she’ were caught in the nasty web but even trying to act happily by hiding the truth that the taste has gone. The relation between ‘me and she or you and me or he and she’ is nothing but a reminder of the nursery rhyme ‘Cock a doodle doo’. Be honestly speaking the moment was coming along with the amusement when she fell down to the rooftop like a rolling stone, this downfall provoked my heart singing the nursery rhyme with amused laughter.
… … …

The air was arid and filled with the pungent smell when she disappeared. The police vehicle is breathing near me. Yeah, death is not so far remote to me. The notorious moonshine now appeared a beheaded killer in the lone deserted road. I dialed again to wishing her the last goodbye, but she was silent forever. I know this is my last chance to escape the net where I trapped badly; perhaps it was my fault or someone else. Does it matter deep? The question itself is trapped here to its spider net. Whatever the answer be, death is chasing me behind. The reason is clear now,—life is nothing but the same old resonance of love and hatred, resonates the perfectly tuned ‘Cock a doodle do’ over and again;—so I’ve to run until they shot me. 

… … …

Unfinished Trap_4

Image Source: Landscape; Wallhaven.com 
… Sad, but truth has appeared with the cruelty that we two are inept stimulating each other to make the quick doodle do; for the sake of continuity, that is, somebody has to be involved who sent us here and compelled us begetting the resonance over again, so life can go by even after we’ve melted into the dust…

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