There’s a little less life, in life today.
Among the subtleties of human predicaments, I often like to imagine, is a lie that they had us believe. A lie- or a truth gone rogue- that was fed to us to keep the darkness away, which now ironically forms the very basis of it.
The fundamental error of our lives has been to let that lie settle into our souls, to place our bets on the belief that- purposeful things cannot end into nothingness.
One day he will wake up just to discover that everything around him, everything that he had ever seen, the way people behaved, the way everything was, all the love that he had received, was all a dream, fantastic world that he had woven around himself because the reality was too much for him. And the brutal irony is, that he already knows about it. He already knows that everything around him, all the positive things, all the optimism, is dream. He knows that one day, he will have to wake up. But, he doesn’t want to wake up, he doesn’t want to accept the reality. He just wants to sleep just watch it rain all day long, all night long. He wants to live in that fog. He just doesn’t want to know.
“Why do you write poems?”
“In the hope, that one day the people for whom I wrote these poems, would read them and understand those feelings which I never communicated with my voice.
“In the hope, that one day, after reading the morning newspaper, out of all the millions of things you could do, you would pick up your laptop and out of all those thousands of things you could search for, you would search for poems. On account of that little, beautiful magic, we call coincidence, you would get on my blog and of all the poems, would read the one I meant for you. And, then, out of all the hundreds of explanations that those combinations could have, you would understand the one I wish you to. You would know that I wrote it for you, because of this thing we have. You would not say anything though, you would not ask me. You would just know, just know what’s going on in my mind and just help me. And, maybe, hopefully, after the incidences in question are over, you would come to me and ask me in subtle words- That poem? It was meant for me, right? – And, I would give a little beautiful nod and we would just smile.
“In the hope of that little chance, I write poems”
“Why do you write poems?”
“No reason at all.”
The ink in unerasable. There are just two choices: let the words just stay there, for you to read every time you look back or tear the pages apart.
Hand is merely a medium,
It’s the soul that writes.
I remember this one scene from “The Pursuit of Happyness”, in which Chris Gardner (Will Smith) passes by the building of a brokerage firm, and after observing the people around him comments (while narrating the scene) “They all looked so damn happy to me”.
Ironic, in my life, never have I once gotten a chance to experience this scene. In fact, if anything, it is the other way round. While walking on roads, sitting somewhere, talking to people, upon observation, all I will be able to comment (while narrating the story to someone) is “They all looked so damn sad to me”.
It’s true, paradoxical, but true. In fact, this is why the movie was loved by people in the first place. The majority, it didn’t relate with the happy brokers, no! They related themselves with Chris Gardner, the man who was not happy, but in the pursuit of happiness.
The question is “If we all are in the pursuit of happiness, who is happy?”
The greatest book you will ever read is your own life .
Read it cheerfully and share it happily.
Let us try something new today ,
For once in our lives , let us forget our sorrows ,
Let us not be inspired by yesterday ,
But inspire our own tomorrow.
No matter how much inspirational quotes you read or even write , truth is that sometimes in your life you will have to be and you will be sad , so terribly sad that you would not want to do anything else other than staring at the walls for no reasons .
And no person , achievement or writing will bring you out of it.
Sadness , like euphoria , is in much senses an inevitable imagination. It will at some point in life , exist in your head , only in your head and you may or may not be able wake out of it.
It all depends on how eager you are to wake up to reality.