Tag: grief

Suppose

We tend to suppose our sadness,
For we live in the wrong subsistence,
From the life, we have always craved,
The kind we were deprived –
We are deemed to have supposed,
That we are truly sad.

Living beneath the cathartic influence,
Wallowing in feigned caricature,
We, certainly, suppose
Our sadness, not the bliss.
The agony, not the trance.

Then, again, we wonder.

What is happiness, anyway?
Is it a mere state?
Or a reversed alternate?
An alternate we haven’t yet met,
Or confronted?
Is it devoid of pain?
Or is it a life with no fear?
Is it, perhaps, a way to condone,
The miserable trifle we live in?
Or a struggle to console,
Our troubled soul?

If it wasn’t for imagined reality,
This unconquered world of felicity,
Could we have to borne our sadness?
If it wasn’t for the hope of better days,
Could we have held on to the absurdities?

Whether we denote a definition
For the true state of elation,
Whether true enchantment
Lies in the next exit,
If it wasn’t for this expectation,
The assured belief of better times,
How else would we have settled for our sadness?
Our collective griefs?
And the desolate fry of our days?

We suppose we are sad,
To forfeit the weight of the blue ballad,
To transcend beyond the horizon,
Far better reality than we have condoned.

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Whatever. Whenever. However.

Under the pile of buried thoughts,
Beneath the layers of denied griefs,
There, I lie in the bottom.
To facade the sense of impending doom,
To pry and to endure,
The unkind fights,
The merciless battles,
The uncanny realities,
Of the days I have lived in,
The curse of the days I’ve died because of,
And the rest of unrecognised existences.
Do I dare,
To bereave the percolate of ideas in my head,
To fit everything beneath the thick layer of my skin,
And surrend the flare
Of a thing/idea, called life?
Or do I crack the layers
And peep through the piles
To cut off the vices,
To (wrongly) thrive
In traces and pieces?
Whatever. Whenever. However.
How I wish to alleviate my fight!

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Grief is the tribute we pay for loss. We lose something every day. A part of us dies in every moment. A part of the human population dies every moment. We die. Our loved ones die. Sometimes not even physically. But they wither away before our eyes. And we concede for all the losses without a wince. It is when the bigger part of us die we start to pay our tributes. That’s when we grieve.

I don’t feel the heaviness of sadness for every loss every minute of the day. I don’t fall apart that often. But, deep down I know I’m breaking apart into pieces. The parts of me which were glowing like a full moon are now cut down into pieces. Fragments. Thousands of fragments. I no longer exist as one full person. I exist in pieces hidden away in things. That is when I start to wonder if I’m actually faltering away as a whole or if I have lost the hidden cases for my fragments. 

That’s why I prefer if people asked me which part of me died today rather than how I was doing. I wish I could give recognition for my loss. Yes, you may say I haven’t lost a thing. But to the very least, I have lost a chunk of time. But, that is not all of it. I have lost much more than that. Time is just one of the essences I have lost for the day. And maybe there is a way to remedy that or maybe not. The thing is, when we lose things together, it feels like we haven’t lost them at all. The collective grief we escape makes us believe that we haven’t lost a thing. Or even if we do, we don’t give it enough credit to tear us apart.

But grief is grief. The sooner we let ourselves feel and sit with it, the sooner we can get away from the excruciating ache we feel in and out. The later we embark upon that adventure, the more the pain will devour us as a whole.

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