I've been questioning my atheism lately. Maybe, mid-twenties can do that to you. Trying to find a purpose, a greater meaning, has always been the core of human evolution. All those memories and instincts buried deep inside our DNA, resurfaces sometimes. It's strange, even after all the logical reasoning and possibilities, how we find comfort in some prehistoric bunch of lies. We always had a thing for stories, right?
Our universe is 13.7 billion years old, from the big bang to this exact moment. One way to see it is the fact that the universe took 13.7 billion years to mold you into this existence. Or another way is, you're here now and you won't be here after a few more years.
You wake up You eat You go to work You talk to some strangers about your life Then you work again You go back home You eat You sleep
Maybe you'll fall in love, maybe fall out of love. get married to some stranger and die.
I feel like we are ghosts chained to these mundane laws, and that is why people try so hard to find a damn meaning to this sadistic life.
More people you talk to, the lonelier it gets. It gets harder to keep up with their stories. All of the favorite colors, songs, things that make them happy, or sad even the deep dark secrets they chose to tell you at two in the morning. About six years back, someone told me about how infinities are tiny little things that you often fail to see. It never made any sense to me at that time. But In this ever-changing world where you feel the urge to keep up with every damn thing, I guess it's making much more sense.
A friend of mine told me how she doesn't miss the part of herself that felt the need to explain herself to everyone. The need to say sorry when you don't text back or the need to explain why you left. Maybe it's all part of growing up Maybe it's the bad economy and politics putting pressure over your head Maybe it's alright when you leave people behind. After all, this messed up growing up bullshit, I think the relationships that always stay are the ones that you find in the early stage of life. Everyone else is just random strangers with an interesting story. That's the thing about stories, they end in full stops (most of the times).
this numbness that you feel at two in the morning, is the collective insomnia of everyone that looks for answers at the strangest times.
as the clock makes another sound, you're one step closer to an uncertainty. we search through the endless thoughts, for a definite answer to kill the pain, but it finds abode in the weakening heart.
of all the why's and the what's we couldn't figure out, I wonder how some colored pills found the right way to happiness
perhaps, we've become some ghosts chained to the mundane ways, getting rusted, decaying like the opaque buildings that we live in.
Each book I read , Leaves behind a little bit , Of itself inside of me . I pick up all those jewels And thread them together . Seeking inspiration from Someone's words of wisdom . How beautiful is this , Power of words . That uplifts and helps redeem . The human mind displays , Sheer brilliance . When simple words written , Leave behind legacies , Of inspiration , courage , For generations to read . With time the person behind , That pen may fade away , Into oblivion . But , the mark of that Ink spilled , remains indelible . Etched for eternity , On pages blank ....
Was it born while Van Gogh was painting 'Starry Night Over The Rhone'? Was it born when Charles Bukowski decided to be brutally honest? Or it was when Sylvia plath submitted her thesis 'The Magic Mirror' after getting electroconvulsive therapy for fighting depression after months.
Was it in the pain and havoc that the moon created dejected by the idea of never meeting his unrequited lover Sea. Was it born right after that shooting star fall from the sky, maybe in love or tragedy. Or was poetry born when you decided to keep grief and sadness within yourself?
Was I chasing the wrong one All Along?? Was I hoping that One dark night The Moon will fall for the tiny star?? Was I ??
The Poetries of Mine, Were Inspired from the One, That I Chased for 8 years!! The Words, The Alphabets, Just wanted a Glimpse of His, Just a Mere shadow of him On the Words might have made Them alive!! The Wrinkled pages might have Turned Straight and The Lines The One's which had lost their Way might have walked towards The Right Destination.
The Weekdays, Resembled the Frowns That You had on your Forehead when Stressed, The Weekends Sprinkle The Waves of Smiles in The Ocean where Happiness Resides!! Mondays woke Me up with Tin tin of The Alarm clocks - What if I had been Chasing The Storm rather than the Gust Of wind ?? Who knows The Rain Might have Just drenched me Into the Hues of Blue and Not anyone else!! Saturday's - I Realised I was searching for the Wrong Smile !! What if I had been Drowned into the laughter of The One with the Messy hair, Untidy clothes and Smirky smile But I chose to chase the One With the Buttoned up suit, Tidy hair but the Fake smile.
The Lyrics I wrote "You are the Wind Can you tell me what's the time & how many Seconds" Of how I Wish i had asked you not him, The Seconds glared at me, The Minutes warned me, But Still The watch dressed up On his wrist Won, Because I was Chasing the wrong time, I was Chasing the Wrong Watch. The Time took every fibre of my being, You were the Wind that I should have chased!!
"Chase the Wind but Make Sure, About the Direction!! Make Sure If that's the Direction You wanna follow or not".