I never knew it would end up this way. The way when winter sets in and a dense fog obscures the vision. Soon nothing is visible to the naked eye....
THINK PAD
I never knew it would end up this way. The way when winter sets in and a dense fog obscures the vision. Soon nothing is visible to the naked eye. Only thoughts that stay there, unhinged. Voices that rise and incessantly try to tell the truth. But what truth remains after loss and death? Just the mere reminder that somethings may be remembered. That not being forgotten is the biggest asset that remains.
And then a long lingering silence.
Of the agonising weight of survival. To be able to breathe in the shackles, the confining iron ribcage that is hell bound to collapse under its weight. What does it take to stay afloat in a crisis like this?
A long awaited pause.
And then the realisation ushers in. A nostalgic repetition of self actualization. And that is this. Whoever you are, what you’ve become or destined to be, is somehow entwined and yet so far apart from your circumstances. Somehow the people who nurture you, who betray you, hurt you; mean nothing more than a brick in the wall. A domino in the scheme of self growth. And those dear memories are nothing more than a flower between pages, destined to wilt and fade in the background verses. Death must succumb it all. And nothing must remain but the ashes of a life that was lived with a charred heart and tainted fingerprints. Those who arrive later, know where the wounds have been. Some voices still hold the echo of empty places, evacuated long ago. Till all we become are shadows of visages. An amalgam of alter egos that can only exist without an anchor of the past weighing it down.
Forgetting may be difficult but burying what has passed becomes the only way to live on with what is alive.
May be living takes practice to embrace death after all. So when the remnants of the past create recognisable patterns; in the way you smile or talk. The way you carry yourself. How your thoughts form a tapestry and the way your fingerprints match the ones that were here before. How your insecurities align and the way your mind too stays up all night perplexed. Know that it is nature’s way of selecting the idiosyncrasies that set you apart and yet keep the ones that have gone alive.
It is also a way of paying homage to the ones who built a life, this very life you’re living.
And although it is daunting and lonely trying to figure out the meaning of this whole chaos, the only truth worth remembering is the fact that everything means something, even loss and forgetfulness. The lost places are filled with new opportunities of growth. And the poisonous weed is to be let out to die on its own. And it does, all in due time..
