The lonely march to Jerusalem,
The empty boxes of nothingness.
Prisoners of fate, all march on quietly.
All around, the music calls,
Tells all of the riches that lies in wait.
The hollow eyes, the gleaming eyes,
Shined with a polish of hope,
Forever to march till dust do they turn
In hope for a paradise they’ve spurned.
The beautiful words, of beautiful humans,
Which enchant and beguile the masses.
The promises of endless joy,
The words that none have ever seen.
But still they’ll march undeterred,
Not fooled by the lack of something more,
We have our books, just as you do,
And we cannot…we cannot…
The night seems far away from me tonight. I sit here alone with nothing but the ticking of the clock to keep me company and I cannot help but think, that the night seems far away from me tonight. The curtains are drawn and the lights are switched on, I want to give away to a sweet soft slumber, but my eyes remain stubbornly open and my mind refuses to feel the narcoleptic urges of a night embracing human. I stare at the portraits around me and I’m constantly interrupted by the sudden snores of my friend’s grandfather who is asleep soundly in the other room, and I envy him.
My young heart still beats freshly, my young mind at odds with the thought of doing anything educational or aiding in recuperation. I hear the dogs bark outside energetically and I wonder why I am awake to hear them bark so. There is no mystery to a mind that refuses to sleep at times, but it introduces into my tired self the recognition of the distant comfort of the night and my yearning for it.
I long to close my eyes and sleep. Not forever, no. At this point I am startled by the sudden cuckoo of the clock, that old friend of all we punctual humans. Ah yes, I long to sleep. But not forever no, in fact I feel a terror every night that slowly becomes more familiar with each passing night that perhaps my time on earth could end with the close of those eyelids of mine. Not an amplified fear no, but a rational fear, and so I wake up the next day, comforted by my existence in a world that does not seem interested in offering me answers unless I go looking for them. But oh, I only said offer didn’t I? There’s no guarantee that you could ever find your answers.
In my solitude I write of the night that seems distant even though it is all around me and moving on as I speak. We’ve called it night haven’t we? The time when the sun sets and we close our weary eyes to sleep. Indeed, tonight when even the night has sought to abandon me, I shall lie on my bed and wonder about things that are shallow and nonsensical, and I shall close my eyes and embrace the dawn, only to wake up with a tired body.
Let’s save the good words for the strong,
Let’s reserve the encouragement for the weak.
May the tide be with the competent,
And let luck glance upon the struggling.
Today we unite once again as we always will,
To make pretend and rejoice for the equality of humanity.
May the crippled man run with the fit,
May the mute debate with the politician.
Oh yes indeed, let us all rejoice,
At how very equal mankind is.
For surely we are equal?
Our sanity has been approved and the stamp
of many a dozen, reputed, medical institutes grace it.
If there is confusion amongst the peoples,
A simple query is posed,
“If what is spoken of seems so blatantly unequal,
and if humanity is so very sane and kind,
how could such a system still exist?
For wouldn’t the warrior that the common man is,
rise up to fight against such inequality?”
The very existence of such a system,
in an age filled with such civil people,
Is proof of its legitimacy.
And so it is said,
Let the voices of the few who dissent,
be stifled down and silenced!
The world, our world, does not need their equality,
Their equity! We are complete as we are now.
Indeed, let us break bread with the insane,
and laugh knowledgeably at his words.
I met him near the well,
his pants soaked with water.
He looked at me cheerily
and laughed at me despite himself.
Our introductions were curt,
our conversations brittle.
I told him he was a fool,
He told me I was not.
The confusions that followed then,
the little accusations of mirth.
I decided then to treasure
and make pretend that they were real.
The well was demolished one day,
and I saw him sitting beside the rubble,
eyes downward as if his soul was spiraling down too.
His love for the well, i could not comprehend.
The next day my compatriots knew,
of the gent by the well and our established friendship.
Our merry making was known to all in the town,
But every where I looked, cold eyes followed me.
The next day he came late,
and asked me if I was okay.
I smiled to him and said,
that with him by my side, I would always be.
When my mother heard my confession,
she looked at the open window,
and gently holding my hand said,
that she would always love me.
The days of summer suddenly seemed alive,
and for the first time I felt,
the burn of autumns brown leaves
and the rush of the spring breeze.
The morrow I was summoned
and take a trip I did,
at the behest of my mother,
to a kindly gentleman’s place.
Drink this, my mother said to me,
as she gave me a little red pill.
I took the tablet quietly and
gargled it down with water.
When I went to the well next,
My friend seemed to be absent,
I called for him all day,
but never got an answer.
Truly it is sad, how lonely sanity is.
I feel especially tensed today. I was filling in an entry in my diary when I realized that I am actually quite unhappy with the way I am right now. Or rather, I feel claustrophobic thinking about how every move I make is monitored by society. It’s made me wonder how someone as crazy and independent as me has suddenly become a serf to society.
Being a responsible adult, dressing a certain way, talking a certain way. Did I actually make all those decisions? Who am I?
I’m a loner. I like being alone and with my laptop, watching obscure shows till the wee hours of the morning. I’ve pretty much rejected society and thoughts of a normal life. But I can’t help but wonder. Am I really okay with the way I am? Do I actually like being alone? When and how did I become a loner? Wasn’t I an incredibly jovial social person? I used to love reading and playing with my friends! (I use the word “play” because the last time I did anything of the sort I was in grade 8).
I’ve rejected society, but why? Am I actually independent? Am I okay with having no one to rely on. Am I okay with being friendless, alone and desolate? Am I fine? How did I become this way?
I’m sorry for the rant. It’s just that I’ve never thought about how I turned out this way. I love myself. I’m not depressed. But I do want to know why i am the way I am. And at the same time I cannot help but feel suffocated by the world around me.
The world that wants me to conform to a certain norm. The world that wants me to do something I may not enjoy. The world that turns a blind eye. I turn a blind eye. But can I really blame the world? Maybe I’m not brave enough. Maybe it is me who does not have the courage to spread my wings and soar. Soar. Soar. Soar.
I want so much more that it’s making me choke up. Please, I want to break free of these chains.
Are there any chains?
Is it wrong to yearn to remain naive forever? Is it wrong to clutch at the strands of fantasy that leaves one pining for more? Is it wrong to feel one’s soul crash at the end of a tale? I want to live like this forever. In a dream land. Surrounded by all the people I love. Doing the things I love. I want time to stand still. I want to tell to time “I’m happy now. Please, stay this way for a little while longer.”
Oh I don’t want to grow old and serious. I don’t want to talk about the weather and politics and be responsible. I want to be carefree like a bird that’s just spread it’s wings. I don’t want to feel the disappointment of failure or weep over the loss of a loved one. Ignorantly blissful, I want to live this way.
Smiling at small things, laughing at the lesser things in life. Enjoying the normal things I have with me. Yearning for the finer but never needing it. Ah!
He rode with red, he rode with light,
and behind his steed the sunlight blazed.
Over the shores that seemed empty,
and past the fields that seemed dead,
the stars above seemed to bleed,
with words that near him lay.
When nights had come and nights had been lost,
and the journey seemed to go on alone
Far away the birds seemed to sing,
as close to his ears the wind danced.
Yet when his eyes to them he’d turn,
Only the velvet blanket of night,
remained to envelope him in warm embrace.
After time fleeted, as it always has,
his steed fell to the ground and shook.
He watched with somber eyes as he
his knife from his sachet removed,
and slit the poor thing’s neck wide.
As the merry blood trickled onto the ground,
he lay beside his friend, in last communion.
Now no longer gallant he walked,
no higher than the common man.
And spent many a nights in numbed sleep,
where the visions of the morrow sought to trouble him.
The plagued man who sought to recapture,
the treasures that he’d thrown away.