Where are the ghosts? Gods? Angels? Devils?
The haunting spirits with undying desires
unfinished business
the reincarnation of lovers
lost and found again
to be lost twice over
Those angels who catch people when they fall
finding their way back to the gates of heaven
demons in caves
howling through fissures that echo in your head
ghosts in void decks
school toilets, icy breezes
shadows which dance
laughing at your back
the devil and his wager
a bet on your soul
semi, demi-gods
mythical creatures
fragipani, garlic, crosses, holy water
full moon, silver bullets
all condemned to bullshits,superstitions
courtesy of rationality
the new God of the modern world.

Where is that view of the world when fears and hopes took shape in these things?
the very images of desires, anxieties, truths, colours, stories, lives of human beings
to be torn down by the new science
by reason
Faith in facts above fantasies
"Harry Potter"'s desperate attempt to revive the dead:
cheap, facile.
So we become some kind of rational zombies
drained of our life blood in imagination now called superstitions
fears have names now
psychologists help you put labels on these things
they are called syndromes
phobia vs Dracula
our world is a grey one-explained daily in newspapers
politicians dictate, experts define, scientists explain
there are causes now
always cause for effects
we can fear less now?
ghost are bad jokes to pass time
and good conversation starters.
Cancer is scariere than malevolent undead
Imagination, escapcism has their own divided workspace now
find them in books, comics, cinema
just don't ask about life
be happy with these little rigid segments
they are the fruits of hard labour

Pity those people who believed in these things,
there are no rain gods,
only condensation, evaporation and water cycles
no mother earth or hell even,
it's called the core.
you are not seeing dead people
it's called schizoprehnia
Possessed?
no, she is suffering from seizures.
thanks to reason, we have answers.
And stories, superstitions, legends and myths
are not a problem,
thye are precisely what they are
and merely that.

Possibilities missed. The things which did not happen.
Roads branching out into a million trails at intersections
which fate ultimately forces one to walk down only one.
It could have happened, but didn't.
Watching something grow, bud from the seed
a probability.
It may blossom into a flower, a tree,
it can also be stomped on by an unsuspecting passerby
or just simply die out
or dry up
or be plucked by inquisitive kids.
Or perhaps end up as a pressed flower in someone's favourite book.
How the story could have ended differently.
How we will never know otherwise
Here's an ode to those moments
to those other possibilities
the stories which could have happened.

To the 'if's, to the 'or's, to the 'might have's in life.
To the mysteries of those lost chances.
To putting them behind with a smile.
To wondering
To forgetting
To remembering.
To every missed opportunity
To that unwritten story that fate sometimes hints at
To moving on
until the next cross road arrives.

Swinging on a swing on a certain afternoon, she thought, 'how can I not die'. She came to the logical conclusion that she had to stop growing old, so she will not eventually die. She had wondered at the morbid fascination of older folks with the obituary sections of newspaper. Scruntizing the little fonts, details of birth and family's names and combing photos for signs to understand the once-existing being. Looking at unyielding faces of the newly-dead, hoping to uncover some secrets behind the faces. And maybe catch a glimpse of death itself. Perhaps as some kind of sadistic reminder of their limited time, or maybe a secret pleasure of having outlasted someone else in a reality game just like 'Survivor', only without second chances. Or is it a thankfulness at having been given more time. Because no one understands the value of time like the old people do. How they will sit for hours just to savour their passing. Feeling the once invisible effects of time become engravings on skin, now loose and crumpled, half falling off. Like watching old movies run, over and over again. Knowing the inevitable ending will crop up towards the last ten minutes of the show. Waiting for that same old ending to replay itself. And the magic of still being surprised when it happens. Maybe they will wait till the credit rolls right up to the blank black screen. Younger folks have no patience to watch credits, they have no time. Older people, need to watch it for some kind of reassurance.

Perhaps one day, science will unlock the secrets to aging, then it will be perfect, everyone will be immortals. Living endless lives, having exhausted every possibility until boredom itself becomes beautiful. Boredom will reign. Maybe, she thought. Death is such a nuissance. So interpruptive. So unglamourous. So distastefully disgusting. It was dreadful. It was on this fateful day that she found her vocation in life. Like seeing a sudden beam of light, she saw her destiny.

There were natural rules governing the universe which could not be tempered with. So the possibilities were greatly limited, but even though it was against the odds, she still strove along with various other scientists. Cloning. Replacing biological bodies with more time enduring ones. Storing Memories and mental processes in databanks which can be uploaded. All so as to give human race the second chances that was needed. So that the final pieces of the puzzles can be completed. so that questions can be answerd without that horrible gap that always interrupts. So that time can be stretched to provide answers surrounding "the meaning of life, the universe and everything." Death was a handicap that human race could do without. death was a flaw that human beings needed to perfect. That was their mission. THey have been doing it since prehistoric times with that very first cave painting, for something to survive the human body. To survive time, to survive death. Like Shakespeare's work, like Van gogh's paintings. Like monuments, like history. Everything had been humanity's giant project to beat death. To stretch human time. To leave legacies. Without death, the world would not need reproduction. No need for new people. The same old ones will be the only ones. Forever Young. Forever. such an alien word. As if anyone really understood what forever meant. BUt that was why she put herself through all this. To understand what forever meant.

Decades. Centuries.Millenias. Millenias of millenias went by, and at last they succeeded. Death was no more. The answers have finally been all answered. Scientists, Artists, Writers and all the old ones stared at each other, tried to feel the satisfactions of the answers, but they couldn't. Not if the questions no longer existed. Not if there were no more questions to give answers meaning. So they sat down and had a conference. Then, it was decided. Now that all the answers had been discovered. It was time to rediscover the questions. Now that death had been eliminated, the next step to progress was to rediscover death. It was decided. The Galaxy would be demolished, a supernova would suffice. Then life and death would begin all over again. So that the search would never end. So too with the end, comes the beginning, all over again.