Tag: pain

Rant 05: Petrichor 

I walked through a rain today, dear reader. 

Why do people feel the need to validate your every action anyway? Aren’t we already phasing out the era of community and “evolving” into becoming individualistic society anyway? What are you really scared about? The cold? The splash? Or the true freedom in letting yourself go? [The side glances of people for walking in the rain is unbearable, somehow.]

While living in this world, almost everyone is in debt to the eyes of the beholder. Your beauty is measured by the perceived reflections of the one looking at you. You responsibility/ hard work is recognized by those around you. Your values are determined by the things that you do and you accomplish. After all, everything is governed by external validation you acquire from the rest.

That’s why even if you adore the smell of a fresh rain in June, it is unlikely for you to walk through the rain. Chasing the validation of others for every inch of a stride is exhausting in reality. But then, where else would you find a joy of skipping a drizzle from one step to another?!

In any case, your worth [your true worth] shan’t be find underneath the will of your observant. Whatever you’re worth for, you find it within the walks of the rain. Within the walks of life in freedom. And life is a journey for more than that. Let go. Breath. And enjoy the petrichor while you’re at it.

Rants of the Absurdist

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Notes from the Floor.

It’s yet another quiet day, she thought for herself. She barely made a sound for the past three days. She’s scribing endless notes to relieve of herself the chaos of her head. Her notebook starts with this…

‘If choices are what makes us human, alive, and well, what about the choices we weren’t in charge of? Like being born or the family you’re born into, the childhood we were force to endure, the many things we are not in charge of. The whole lot of things we wouldn’t know to get the hold of. How on earth are we going to explain those?!’

She pondered into the abyss of the light. ‘When did the days become so long?!’ She thought for herself. She has been hoarding the floor for more than few days now. She went on with her scribblings…

‘Breakdowns are not diseases. No one knows how to explain a breakdown. It’s rather easy to tell people you have a headache. Contemplating your life decisions while sitting on the floor can’t be called a sickness by any standard. How much you need to ground yourself to what’s real or not, what matters most or not at all, that cannot be defined as something any normal person would like to do. ‘

It’s easier for most to conclude it as a choice. But is it always?!

‘Today is a bad day. Because I kept seeing the flashbacks of all the traumas, bad days, and moments I had when I was just 11 years old. And the flashbacks of my hospital days where a schizophrenic patient freaked the shit out of me while sleeping. And the most painful sessions I had when I was there. I feel weak exactly like those days. I felt the death in me thriving, growing, overcoming me like no tomorrow exists. While sitting on the floor, I am contemplating, reteaching myself that there’s a different tomorrow. I am a different person now. None of the flashbacks are my reality. I have come a long way only to feel that weak again. And yes, on days like these, I hate the fact that I am way too lonely. I am a coward. And I don’t even know how to talk about it. My mom’s face changed while looking at it. And she was unconscious for the next 20 days or something. I remember calling the doctors around. They shoved me out of the room, then. And I had to walk home in the middle of the night because I didn’t know how to get home from the hospital with taxi. My mom made me promise not to tell anyone that she was sick. So I walked home crying the whole way. I thought she died this time. And there was no one I could call or tell. ‘

‘Of all the days, she doesn’t know why she is remembering this today. She kept seeing the flashbacks all day long. And she kept feeling like that little girl with no one around. The fear she felt that day is crippling her in a same way today. As if it was happening now. She feels crippled, overwhelmed, and cold. And it’s ridiculous because she should be over it by now. ‘

She didn’t want to write anymore. She just added an anecdote that says…

‘If you don’t know what to do, run! Run away from the pain. Hide from the light. Because the light exposes while the dark covers and hides the sores of yesterday. No one knows what a breakdown looks like, anyway. It varies from one another. And madness is merely a choice. It haunts and devours in the most possible wrong times. Life is a victim that can never run away from it. So, yes. Stop shaming people for choosing madness over health or whatever.’

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Pain, Always & Forever

In the field of battle/game,
All deem to be a king/queen.
In the field of life,
Where death duels life in all wretchedness,
Love obliges/bid everyone to be the king,
The unyielding king reigns the kingdom.
The never-ending ruler,
The endless king
Deems to be felt,
Earns to rule it all,
In the field of battle,
Neither love nor life,
Hate nor death,
Wisdom nor anger,
Call whichever god & goddess
Pain is the ruler of them all!
It demands to be felt.
It deems to be rectified.


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The Shenanigans of Healing

Through patience and pain, we learn to surrender to life.

I would say many are surviving the days with all the power they could master. Most are in a mere existence mode. So much so, that many would relate and empathize with the sentence I have marked. Pain is the new normal, perhaps. Or maybe there is no normal anymore. The equivalent of hunting and gathering is, perhaps, surviving and existing. 

Nevertheless, it is not all foolish to wonder if there is a horizon beyond the insurmountable pain most experience. Pain powered by patience is a powerful tool to push anyone to the edge of healing. And that specific moment to open the wound marks the fight for healing whilst escalating the pain.

What if there is no healing? I, sometimes, wonder. If there was no such a state called healing, it might be easier to wallow in the pain forever and ever. But then, what if there is? It’s all ifs and wonders after all, isn’t it?

Despite all the ponders, I would like to think that healing could be a journey. In a mere romanticization of pain and suffering, one might succumb to the idea of living in constant pain. But that can be a bit of an extreme. Nor that I am saying all should believe in joy and elation. It is, yet, a mere fact that all need a balance in life. Perhaps, that balance is defined as healing.

These days, more often than not, I feel that constant pain in my bones. It is not a physical pain per se. It is a pain of crossing the boundary of living in constant pain to the paths of healing. My body feels the trauma shatter in every piece of myself. O the trouble of finding the neutral version of yourself while feeling the pain to cease your own death! 

In all truth, I believe healing is a constant journey. I do not think it is a state you achieve at some point. It is rather unresolved shenanigans of life itself.  Well, it is life after all!

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O Pain, O Pain

Pain is a random stranger you haven’t met yet.
You think you know it.
You have seen the edges
And the depth of it.
The slithering aches you have experienced
Makes you think you have fathomed
The entire fold.
The complete world.
Yet, again, it strikes.
It surprises.
It pierces.
Unfold the untold.
Like a random stranger,
Like the one you haven’t met yet,
It startles.
O pain, o pain,
Would you cease to stun?
Would you stop to ambush?
Would you care to forlorn
Our consciousness alone?


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Wheel of Scars

A scar is born
Out of an apthy torn.
A numbness, unfolding,
A coldness, unyielding.

In a bold attempt of fighting the cold,
Unwinding the endless knot,
Follows the thread of the cut.
The surge.
The impulse.
Satisfied. And gratified.

The appeased god of numbness,
Engulf the pain of existentence.
Fries the coldness,
Only to enrich with warmth.
Igniting pain, spreading ache
All over the dead.

Indifference is disarmed.
A wound is invited.
For twinging pain is alarmed.
A wave of healing is inflicted.
Leaving one to wonder,
If only healing was painless,
Or granted.

Pain thrives while healing sprouts,
Wounds thicken.
Agony is sown.
And, a scar is born.
Marking the pain.
Declaring the mend.

All is well,
Until numbness swell,
The looping cycle resets.
The wheel of scars –
Is completed.


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I No Longer Pray.

I don’t pray anymore.
For my body is unburdened,
From my spirits;
For my heart is locked,
In the sheath of flesh;
And my soul has been devoured,
In the realm of my mind.

I don’t pray anymore.
For I wait no longer,
In fret and despair.
For I unhinged the bar,
To set loose from my fear
And sheer terror.
For, now, I am bound,
To utter intrepid.
A boldness, un-succumbed.
Built on whatnot.
Yet, a great freed.

I prayed.
Once, or twice.
For the safety of my soul,
The relieve of my spirits,
And the lift off my agonies.
Only to rot in hurt,
Of the uncanny wait,
In unyielding anticipation.

I no longer pray, yes.
Not in so many words, anyway.
Or one.
Do not haste to judge, yet.
Or go right ahead
And speculate.

For it is not the frustration,
Or a tantrum in agitation,
Caused by a mere delay,
[Why I no longer pray].
One does not pray,
For a form of repay.
Yet, it is a transaction
Awaited in reckon –
Proof of being heard.
And that is the real bound,
The confinement of the heart,
The bars on the rim of my soul,
And the shackles of my being.

Are you insensed,
For only I told
The truth at the heart
With no limit to my thought?
Or have I tapped
A sore spot,
A sacred truth to remain untold?
Or have I awakened the inner brute?
The one lying beyond,
Now, here unraveled.

I don’t pray anymore.
Yet, I wonder.
If I could entreat once more,
To alleviate the burden,
And the guilt
Of not praying heretofore.

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Resurface

If every ugly scar we hid
Every vice we buried
Resurfaces unprecedented,
Would we be able to stay unbothered?
Heads straightened?
Would life go on, unchanged?
Uninterrupted?

If all the internal perceptions we contemplated,
(Revised, edited, and confirmed),
Were to break out
To sneak a peek
Through the pores of our skin
Every chance they get,
Could we have survived,
Remained composed,
In the wavering tides?

Or

Is life filled with tales
Of resurfaced tokens
We simply cruise through?

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The Phantom Pain

Prickling sensation in parts I cut off,
I sense- I sense pain where I should feel numbness,
I perceive fire when I should feel coldness,
I hear the thumping of my blood,
In parts I killed,
In body parts I amputated.
I breathe in life,
In parts, I should have felt death.

How could I feel pain,
If there is none left to perceive?
How could I feel movement,
If there is none left to flail?
How could I feel ache,
If there is none left to ache?
How could I bleed,
If there is none left to squeeze blood?

A pain cruises the parts I cut off.
Life springs in the dead layers.
I thought it was over,
When I killed it all.
I thought it was enough,
I thought dying once was all I needed,
To quit the hide and seek,
To stop the denial and the facade.

But then,
Even when there is none to feel the pain,
There is the illusion to perceive the ache.
Even when all is lost,
There is always some left,
For the phantom pain. 

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The Longest Minutes of Life

Under the valley of mist,
In the blur of my imagination,
There I wonder!
Would words be enough?
Would tears suffice?
To show the ache inside
To tell the story behind.
To face my doubts of existence in life!
Will I ever be enough?
Will I ever survive the longest minutes of life?
Will it be over?
Or worse?
Or just a dreadful nightmare?
Will I ever long for my existence?
Or just the end of it?
Am I always gonna be the coward?
Coward for hope?
Coward for life?
Whatever I’m gonna be,
Just let me be.
For you, it might be minutes.
But for me, it’s so long-
It feels like years.

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Listening to thy human,
More often than not,
Makes thee a cynic of sort.
Hearkening to those,
Who don’t even listen-
Or think before sayin’
Elicits pain thoroughly.

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