Aren’t we weary and Tired of life itself? Aren’t we all bored of The entries into our memoir? Aren’t we ashamed of The obituaries To be read? Aren’t all our eyes In need of a respite? A blink, perhaps? A 4000 little respites For every hour We stay alive. Maybe a little more Than that of resort. A refreshment, indeed. A break from the windows Of vision and the doors Of unending tales.
As time flies, The tides of changes Grows stronger And stranger. Forcing one’s focus To depart, before it ever comes. The too many hustles We endure; The multiple facades We create; Sometimes help with the Heaviness of the days we carry.
But,
But the busyness never helps With the exhaustion we bear. The weariness we suffer. We seek, then. A 4000 little respite of few blinks To keep the staggering fire Flaming afresh.
Inspired by:
Blinking, we call it. It’s like a small black shutter that clicks down and makes a break. Everything goes black; one’s eyes are moistened. You can’t imagine how restful, refreshing, it is. Four thousand little rests per hour. Four thousand little respites—just think!
Between the cracks of the walls, Lodged are the thoughts, Dreams and nightmares, Daydreaming and conversations Of ours.
Between the cracks We are buried Not too deep, Nor far beyond The surface of reality
Between the edges of the years, Months, days, and seasons, We are deeply carved And engraved To be rewarded Of the more.
Between the cracks and creases, We lie in peace, unperturbed. In quietude amidst the crowd. And in the reign of the disturbed.
Between the splits of life, The seconds and minutes, There, we lie awake To the world of beyond, Unraveled, And un-comprehended. Only to peek Through the cracks Of this world.
The details, blundered. The order, converted Into unsupervised chaos. The story of my life, that is. Rearrange, reorder, and revert, The small and big chunks of The part and the parcel. To govern the puzzle. To make it, sound. Not fabricated, Or faked. For my life is indeed A double edged. The sharp trenchant, My assumption of it, that is. And the dull flat- The true color of it.
I don’t take you for granted, ofcourse. I cannot possibly do that. But the things you tell me, The, good, great things you appreciate of me, Makes me wonder if you are seeing, Someone in my stead. Someone perfect. Someone qualified and accepted. Someone who earned your honor. Someone who is validated. Someone whom you want to see. Not someone who is in me. That’s why your words hurt me. Your words give me a sour taste in my mouth, And a sore ache down my spine. Not because they are bad, Nor not necessarily false, But because they are great. Because after all, That’s not how I picture myself. That’s not what my mirror reflects. Do know, though, That’s not my excuse, It’s just my reality.
I stared at the mirror wanting to know what everyone would see for the day. I perused into my own eyes. I appreciated the dark shade that encircles them. I saw how my pupil are indifferent to the figure they are looking at. My forehead seems to have developed new contours. My cheeks looked to weigh twice more than the other day. Perhaps, the deepening of my eyes into the bones marked their prominence. I wanted to check my practiced smiles. My trials were ineffective. I sighed the breath I held for a while. I did not feel relieved a bit. I touched my hair for the last time. I gave myself a reassuring nod to function for one more day. Since I looked at myself well, I will not worry wondering what they might be watching for the day. I departed from my reflection to grab my bag from the table.
The morning sun strikes my face the moment I got out of my home. I wished the warmth to melt the heaviness of my face. I walked down the road in my usual pace despite the disappointment I felt. I consoled myself for it will be the first of the many for the day. My morning thoughts went on to wonder. Suddenly, I came to realize that I am just reflecting the light like a bottle. A bottle of venom waiting to spill itself any moment. The sun can only warmth my venom to freshen the simmering fluid once again. It can never break the barrier into pieces. Though the realization was not liberating, I was amazed by the accuracy of the analogy. After today, the moment I start talking, I will be reminded of the little venom sprays I’m spreading. For some reason, that made me grin. It would be the first of many involuntary grins I have to endure, I hoped as well as resented.
I usually rise early. But, my mind awakens late. I always suffer the trauma of waking up the instant my eyes are open. My body will operate accordingly to the time I have. But my brain, oh my brain! It suffers deeply for all the things I will make it endure. It takes a while for my mind and body to operate together. Even after the union, my brain usually wanders a lot. But it needs the miracle of the coffee spill to attach them for once!
I envy the days I loved the sunrise. I reminisce the days I thought dawn was the symbol of hope for everyone out there. I long for the days my brain and body interlaced to one another. Because now, when I stare into my eyes, I don’t see the deep brown pupils lodged in the white surface along with the red stripes. I see the hate, remorse, and resentment of this thing called life. I see how much I do not understand the abstracts. Life, love, wisdom, beauty, loss, death, justice, etc. All the things I can barely touch, but seek definitions of. The simplest definitions I used to provide have left me bereft. In the candid moments, when I stop making myself bear the pain of existence, I giggle in my definitions. I pity myself for the simplest thinking. I do not wish to award the complexity of my thoughts, though. I no longer believe in encouraging any behavior. I just continue to exist, until I do not!
When I stare into my own eyes, despite what lays there, I wish to see the simple lies I used to tell myself. Or the tale all the people tell without knowing. I wish to open my eyes to the societal lies we all succumb to. Dear reader, I wished to finish this paragraph without being a realist or cynic. I kid you not I tried. But the mere beauty of my existence is the fact I do not yield to the conventions. That is the very reason that gives me joy in some of my days. So, when I stare into my eyes, I would like to see the crooked world I have to see for the day. I would live to see reality knocking on the doors of many. I wish to see my insomniac eyes trying to go through the brightness of the morning in complete disgust. Nothing more, and nothing less!
Lately, I’ve been forced to succumb the idea that the world we live in is disintegrating into pieces. Advancement has become the euphemism for taking the essence out of things. The very elements that constitute things have faced the fatal reality. We built a social life without interacting socially with one another. We built a system to create intimacy in a certain amount of time. Commitment and affection have become the unnatural faces of our lives. The empathy we had for fellow humans, just because we are human beings, has become costly. The upgrade in our lifestyles to save us time is the greatest jest, perhaps. Because none of us have any time to do a thing. For us, the people in the previous centuries are simple and boring. And yet, our so-called sophisticated life has left us with no time to think and reconsider our decisions. Unwise, impulsive, and easily satisfied without considering the value are the best descriptions of our time. We even managed to have a coffee without the caffeine. The same way we create a beer without alcohol. Our advanced life has become meaningless and fragile in many aspects. So many of us suffer in silence. But we are not the only ones falling apart into pieces. The world we built is also decomposing. If we only knew how far we have come from the essence of life!
“I used to be someone else. Someone who was comfortable with talking. Someone who played with the strings of beautiful words. Someone who did this and that. But then I sank into the dark abyss of my soul, I forgot the existence of the world around me. My eyes are now nearsighted for the universe of my own. I barely talk. Words have forsaken me. I can’t utter a single thing well. That could explain why I like my own company more than anything. I wish to utter words on my paper to see the flow of my thoughts well. I want my words to paint the roadmap of my train of thoughts. But, o my words! They left me behind in the constant perplexed illusion of myself. I can’t even recognize which is reality or ideation. I’m just left to wander in this unknown, untouched part of myself without a hint of light. Even when I’m awake, it feels like I’m sleep walking through my life. This is why I do not want to talk. The war I have inside of me doesn’t put me at liberty to say things. I’m in fact afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth. I do not wish to say the things like you ache me, your presence suffocate me or your words wound me. I just want…I just want an absolute silence.” She sighed. Almost in a relief of the heavy words she uttered. It felt like the words were burying her down. And now she is liberated. But then, what now?
She ran to her room as if she were running away from the previous few minutes. She stood behind the door,trying to collect her thoughts. Her breathing has fastened. She felt her pulse racing. “Why did I open my mouth? Why? Why?” She stared at the wall waiting for a response. She started pacing around the room. Counted her steps. Right, left. Left, right. “Oh my God!” She sighed with a shiver. She then scurried to her bed and hid under the blanket. In the absolute darkness where she can only hear herself without distraction. She felt relief for no one followed her after the speech she had given. She wanted to think of the reason why. But forced all the thoughts back and convinced herself just to lie down in the darkness.
“If I were a melody,” her mind started wondering. This was already the next day and she started scribbling on her notebook. “If I were a melody, I would’ve spent my whole life in a beautiful box. I would sing out the beautiful notes when needed. But for the rest of the time, I will be locked out in my box.” She went on. “I have always thought, when you play a pianoforte, you’re feeling the depth of your heart at the tip of your fingers. Even though your fingers are only doing the magic, your heart is pounding and pouring itself out. Your soul is dancing it’s way through. Only your body is stuck in some fixed position allowing your fingers to move along. In elegance, yet in passion.” She paused for a minute. Then continued again. “But as someone who never played it, but watched many skilled ones perform it with love and passion, I must think that’s how they feel about it. In fact it’s usually said virtuoso musicians lose themselves in the music and zone out from the reality. They become buried inside the box as if they were the melody and the rhythm itself. As the string move, you hear the beat of their soul. That seems to be easy to run away from reality. You just hid in the box.” “Here is my dream job”, she whispered to herself.
She then realized she had been away from the grave reality of her life for few hours. She closed her eyes. She didn’t get out of her room after the last incident. Would she ever be able to stand in front of them? As she starts thinking about her next encounter with her relatives and parents, her throat starts closing up. “I may not be able to say a word after this.” Once the box is open, her mind couldn’t stop wondering about it. “I bet they think it is an iniquity. That it was a disgrace to speak what you have in mind. Is it how it works though? I was a melody in the box. Well, the music that outflowed wasn’t in their liking. And yet, it was still a melody.” As her rambling and her real life becomes at peace, she realized how much little she had spoken. She didn’t say it all. She still has a lot in mind. She felt all the indignation she had kept to herself just for the sake of not saying anything. For the best picture people had of her. But in retrospect, it doesn’t actually feel it worked at all. It was all a ruse at her cost. She doesn’t even remember why she stopped saying anything in the first place. As much as it sounds good to hide in the box and give away such a composition, a melody, it just doesn’t feel right anymore. But this doesn’t mean she is going to use all the words after this. Sometimes, saying nothing says the most anyway. That is also using your voice in sorts. “I am a melody. I live in my own box. My music is sometimes bad. But also good at times. It’s all about a good composition anyway. Who then could tell the bad from the good?” She shouted this in her mind. Then she opened her door and faced the world. Well, at least the people in the next room!
Which one is wrong? Looking for something perfect in this imperfect world(incredibly so) OR believing that there are no perfect things and living a mundane life? Even though it is almost always annoying, the former makes you earn life in a special manner. You feel like you are in a treasure hunt every single day of your life. Some of the days you know what you are looking for. Some of the days you’re running up and down with no sense of direction whatsoever the end result is. But it sure does make you hope for more. You seek to see more in life. You seek to have a desire for a better tomorrow. Even when you know living to see tomorrow means getting close to your death, you live for that instant. Is that really being gullible and silly or brave?
But, the latter is mundane. Nothing exciting whatsoever. You’re always content with what you have. You don’t need more. You are just okay with the momentum of life. If something better comes along, you would receive it with open arms. At the same time, if someone tells you this would be the very last day to live, you wouldn’t mind at all. Knowing and understanding the momentum of life means you are not afraid of a thing, even death itself. This sounds pretty ordinary or lame. But isn’t this the reality of the world we live in? Why should it be extraordinary always? What does it change anyway? Feeling the superpower within you and living like a hero is only possible in a fictional world. If one wants to be a hero, the only thing he needs is keeping up with the tricks of life. Understanding the magic of reality! The way, one would start living beyond surviving a single day in life!
So, I think one must choose to settle in the middle of these two. A little enthusiasm would never hurt anyone. Living in the real, non-fantasized world is sine qua non. If the two can mutually exist, then, that would be quite a combination indeed!
For someone who lives on edge, On the edge of every little thing, I was brave for a while. For someone who repressed every emotion and thought, I wasn’t in a hole for a bit. For someone who is pessimist, In every aspect of life, I wasn’t that negative about it. For someone who is afraid of love, Being loved rather than loving, I survived the unnatural feeling for a minute. For someone who builds the walls high, I let my guard down for a moment. For someone who was a closed book, I left the door ajar. For someone who stopped feeling a thing, I came out of my numbness for a second. For I am that someone, Now I’m back to where I was. I no longer want to question, Who is this someone I’m becoming. I’m back to my islet of reality!
Aren’t we supposed to engrave a big smile On our faces Inspite of all the ache and turmoil? Aren’t we supposed to look happy Even when we are in a great sorrow? Aren’t we all actors of a play In clearing our face from emotion Aren’t we in rehearsal of the biggest show Denial of our pain? Aren’t we always in nostalgia For the good moments we had Aren’t we in a daydream of what life would be If we could just change a variable? Aren’t we fixated on that day or moment Where we started to see life as it’s meant to be seen? Aren’t we more scared of living truly Than facing the inevitable death? Why not then, A frown for joy. A cry for a bliss. A morbid look for happiness. Just for a change. Isn’t that the same thing anyway? Only a different act?!
One thread pass through, Then the other enters. Imagination vs truth, Reality or abstract. Another thread comes in. The selvage is done now. Highly a truth. Partly imagination. Weaving another thread, The sensible abstract. Tearing the physical world apart. With the magical touch of thought. Then follows the other thread, The valuable people around. The portion of our lives. The apprentice of our reality. Now we have the sense of it. Maybe not the grasp of it all. Just the hint of it!
We go on and on through hard puzzles, Complicated problems, Tied up knots all the way. But in the end, All we’re looking for is- Simple life! Full of quietness. No more going in maze. Just serenity in what we do. Living a day the way it’s supposed to. All the hard work for one thing. Simplicity in everything!
May be everything is real May be nothing is fictitious Maybe no one lives in dreamland May be reality is the strongest force It hits you hard again and again
May be…
May be that’s why we hate reality May be that’s why we hate candid people May be that’s why we hate waking up May be that’s why we all adore sunsets May be- just may be!
What can I know of myself as long as I do not know that the self I do know is largely a synthetic product; that most people—including myself—lie without knowing it, that “defense” means “war” and “duty” submission; that “virtue” means “obedience” and “sin” disobedience; that the idea that parents instinctively love their children is a myth; that fame is only rarely based on admirable human qualities, and even not too often on real achievements; that history is a distorted record because it is written by the victors; that over modesty is not necessarily the proof of a lack of vanity; that loving is the opposite of craving and greed; that everyone tries to rationalize evil intentions and actions and to make them appear noble and beneficial ones; that the pursuit of power means the persecution of truth, justice and love; that present-day industrial society is centered around the principle of selfishness, having and consuming, and not on principles of love and respect for life, as it preaches. Unless I am able to analyze the unconscious aspects of the society in which I live, I cannot know who I am, because I don’t know which part of me is not me.
“Smile!”, they say. Despite whatever you’re feeling, just keep smiling. Even when you’re feeling the very opposite of it, you just keep smiling. That way you will avoid the negativity of the air. Because of course laughter is medicine, right?!
Is it though? Sometimes, I feel like laughter is plastering your wounded and rough emotions inside and putting the smoother ones to the outside world just to avoid attention and even help from others. Not only that, it’s also to avoid judgement and snarky comments from the society. Who loves grumpy face anyway? So, like the many things in the world right now, a true smile is rarely found.
Here’s my argument though, what if we let our emotions to be seen? The true ones. What if we don’t always have to cover ourselves in the fake masks we build? As a society, what if we learn to show our emotions? What if that’s the help we need? Rather than becoming superficial and pretenders, can we give ourselves a little break? May be we could even use the energy for mending ourselves more than breaking our soul in to pieces.
So, don’t just smile! Don’t show me your teeth for my own pleasure. Because when people insist on showing them your teeth, it’s not about you. It’s about the unpleasantry they want to avoid from their eyes. Try not to fall for that. Let your face to do whatever it likes to do. Relieve it from its contraction and relax. Let your smile be the genuine one from the heart!
Unabridged Manuscripts 