Saturday, 19 October 2013


She glided down the steps which had been cut into the face of the teal mountain, dancing in and out of the mist rhythmically. On her shapely hips, she carried a basket made of the finest cane money could buy. The delicate sound of thunder rung through the clouds, as globulets of rain did form. But they did not fall. They were held in the sky, magically suspended, refracting the beams of light until they formed colours humans could no longer decipher. A melancholy song pervaded the bloody sky, giving meaning to the mountains - speaking of their forgotten past. Boisterous children seemed to be running down the hill, but they were frozen - like a still picture captured from a motion film. And in the distance, a poet cried.

You don't need to understand the paragraph in its entirety to experience the story which is being told to you. In fact, the moment you start asking for explanation, you dilute the overall effect - you trivialize several immortal moments by bringing it down to your level of understanding. You cannot accept the fact that rain can be held in the air, or that children can run and laugh while still stationary. You want everything to conform to rules, and that is the problem. Everything cannot be explained. Well, perhaps it can be, but it's better that it isn't.

Art in its purest form is completely indistinguishable from music. Music in its purest form needs no lyrics. Meaning is something we create to explain experiences. Sometimes, there are just experiences, and no meaning.