Why is the world so lonely?
Why does it ever cripple down the passionate?
Why do we ever bleed?
I guess these are questions that are often ignored. And why shouldn’t it be! Nobody knows what lies ahead, and nobody cares enough to preach into the past.
But there’s something stagnant about this world, about the way everything ticks, in ways it rebels against the nature of our being, and with the desire to be something more in the crowd of lesser equals.
And less we all are, for nobody knows what we can be, when all we have been is prideful and egoistic. All the minds that have changed, and all those that have pushed us ahead have been a culmination of dreams of being more than just a mass of meat, to feel something greater than just individualism.
And individuality is a myth that has seeped almost everywhere, trying to soak into curious minds with their passionately courageous heart. But they don’t know of the power that fear retains, of the will that pain surges, of the reasons that anger relates, only to see something greater than what we can ever imagine.
For you see, we live in an illusion where deception is the core to every detail, and fantasy is what makes this our reality.
Why do we only see love as the salvation?
Why do we listen to the curses of life?
Why can we only blame fate?
Somewhere in the deeper shades of our heart, we have a fire that burns, calm and yet chaotic. It breathes of the longing that we hold, and of the passion we sustain. While the devil gets the discredit and linings on our hands preach of fault, someone races our heart, faster and fiercer. We keep looking at their shadow, of the stain that’s left in our heart. A painful melody plays on as we keep on listening to the receding footsteps of the person we long for.
We have no tears, no cries, just a recurring ache that keeps coming back when we’re left in the company of loneliness. We have only a handful of memories that pull us away from places where they linger, and we have a familiar smell that we wish to avoid.
But desire is a sinful thing that brings everything back, in the mist of forgotten spaces and forbidden faces.
Where is the end? Why do we begin?
Why have we given a choice?
Do we actually have free will?
Sometimes, life tires us so much that we tend to see every breathe as a burden we need to bear. We fear of the end and regret of the beginning that we had. Maybe we made our choices, and maybe our choices turned out to be wrong, but where exactly was the silver lining?
We take chances and move along with our ideas and thoughts, only to make sure that we hold onto ourselves and do not lose touch with who we actually are. But who are we? Why are we even born?
Can we ever see through on the path?
Maybe death could be visualized as the ultimate truth, of a reality that every individual needs to live in. But is that actually a dilemma to realize? Isn’t that just a fact, and our existence is proving enough about our rebel against it?
Aren’t we living, breathing, enjoying cause we wish to fight against that ultimatum, for we see a light at the end of that path, for we see hope in the memories of all those that we have influenced?
Then, why are we alone?
Why is the world so lonely?
Is it? Or do we choose to see it as such?
Sure, we are born alone, we have our own thoughts and ideas and beliefs, but does that mean we are alone?
Aren’t we given a medium to communicate, to share how we see the world, and show how it changes?
In the fast pacing life that we all live, we have forgotten the roots that define us, the questions that open us to a farther space, we have stopped believing in questions that excite and aggravate us, and have chosen to take solace in crippled reasons and downtrodden beliefs.
In this age of pretending,we have forgotten how to breathe.
In this time of deception,we have forgotten to live.
In the wilderness, I find myself stranded.
Where is it that I wish to be?
In this lonely world of limitless suffering,
what is it that I need to be?
A smile and caressing warmth,
what more am I looking for?
Among the crevices and dried up tears,
would death really be the end of all?
Among the lanes we search for happiness,
would every turn be futile?
I don’t know, I don’t see,
for this here is everything I desire to be,
complete in an empty sheet
with you and my thoughts.