I’ve been pondering for years,
And thought I was finding answers;
But today, I stand clueless again,
With a hope, tomorrow heals the pain,
With a faint dream, that I may learn:
The essence of ‘LOVE’: that foolish concern.
The love that helps me feel my self,
That need not make me dismissively regress
From my own reflection, my faith,
And lessons perfected by distress.
Is there a love in this world, alive?
The one in my head, the one I COULD survive.
You make me question myself in my doubt,
You tell me things I wish to believe,
To my ears, usual words; but your trance
Wins in its effort to deceive,
This moment in time’s deepest sea:
Thus weary to flee, I stay and be.
I know not, what fears me the most,
That urges me to evaporate this emotion,
This enactment, a little alien to me;
Or is it, that I seek a face of devotion?
For in this world, ceased to me,
Seems that form, innocent and free!
I know not, why I stand so stubborn,
Or why I long for this, so much!
I could still choose to prefer instead,
Like each time, my moments of weakness;
Or does love really make me weak, as such?
In its craze, of cradling in nature’s clutch!
The blank page awaits me, to fill its emptiness with my thoughts. And I await something within me to urge me to write; and thus we are both companions in the waiting.
I catch random sound-waves hitting my eardrums from a distance, and realizations of the world around me hit my stream of thoughts. The sense of ‘self’ that I have been trying to make sense of for so long and shall forever keep trying, seems to dissolve each time; and then after a period of ambiguity, fortifies into a different solid form again.
There are more rules for radicals than there are for anyone else. The ‘non-conformists’ are the ones who actually believe in the feeling, doing and receiving that come along with the search for the truth; and that truth lays much hidden beyond the layers of clichés like realities of ‘society’, ‘religion’ (or more precisely, ‘religiously confused lot’), nationalistic ‘pride’, material ‘needs’ etc. etc.
The reason why I call them ‘cliches’ and term them ‘realities’ is the irony of the negligible presence of these two concepts themselves from the inverted (co(m)ma) words; i.e. There is no reality as such really in those inverted words!