February 6, 2008

I have tried wandering around the universe – stepping on meteors, skedaddling with asteroids, or being gobbled up by black holes. I have tried exploring the galaxy – treading millions of light years from ends to ends of Milky Way, seeing creatures in Andromeda, or wheezing like a vacuum cleaner atop satellites.

For the first time, I have felt the warmth of the star; seen its glow at its finest; kissed its smooth arcs with unobtrusive smiles.  For the first time, I have touched solar flares; felt cosmic rays through me; embraced hydrogen balls in their warmest forms. For the first time, I have fondled the warm clouds of Venus; caressed the rings of Saturn; put Pluto back to its orbit. For the first time, I have heard the outburst of Mars’ volcanoes; stroked the curves of Mercury; meandered along the roads of Jupiter. For the first time, I have felt the coolness of the comet, and the coarseness of its dust. For the first time, I have never felt the gravity’s vehemence; its intensifying ire. For the first time, I have gained emancipation from mental slavery; from incapacitating imprisonment; from mind-numbing existence.

For the first time, and the last, I have conquered the universe. And when I opened my eyes , I felt like Earth has been an isolated cubicle of acrid animosity.