Clouds shatter in my island giving up hope that sun will glimmer again to glory. In the pedestal of life we circle around a dot, which marks our existence in this vast constellation of horde of humdrum heads. Humans with big brain hyperbole their existence as being significant from the rest, we live in our own dot, staring endlessly and making it our own universe.
Ever seen a periwinkle in the bouquet of so called flowers, it’s a growing weed in your garden and you just uproot it and replace with a tuberose perhaps. A world of Delirious dilemma hoping every time to escape from the thorns of roses and fire of beds.
Like anyone else I too keep searching for the nectar that I can sniff to live my life in gleeful hallucination, merriment love, cosy bed and warm embrace. Life is beautiful, right? Like being subliminally told to take this red pill and follow the white rabbit until it finds a burrow.
I did the same, I followed what I was told fortunately or unfortunately I got lost in burrow and no help would arrive whatsoever I try. I was thanking my luck, “sweet fate”. I shouted from my burrow to those whom I called friends but they waved in appeasement and never appeared again.
There is no home for you in this world except the heart of your mother that you can equivocally say, “for sure it’s my home”, some who get outlandish leave the shackle of being bonded by the heart of a mother and they break free at times or they are castigated out. A sonder negated my obscure feeling quite a living oxymoron, I sense in some way or the other we are living up in the dots we have created in our mind. An empathetic heart is never at ease for the people outside of the burrow, for them it’s just a piece of cheese cake and they line up in the queue to savour a bit. They did exactly the same until my heart becomes void of anything.
“Everyone should escape their island they secluded themselves in”, they said with pristine ease and comfort. For those who carry a jagged heart in their ribcage for them it’s a cage and they are struggling to let go i.e. to break that imprisonment.
To sweet souls I sing lines,
Tell me tales with sweet smiles,
On the ephemeral lease we lie,
With plastic savouring on the face.
Lies ahead few thorns, I got pricked
Tip, tip tip.
With scars on the skin I flaunt
To each passerby.
For the exchange of hideous smile.
Hypophrenia lives in me like a Taenia,
Until it reaches the core of heart.
For the belly needs to slit open
And all the morsels of dead meat
Need to be sucked out.
I eat unvarnished truth
And vomit out sweet lies.
The blank pages of your lives
Must be written with the ink divine.
In thy hand grasped is your life
You die once or die everyday.
Aquib Khan is a student of medicine in Delhi, India. And a random scribbler of work whose works can be found on his blog !ns¡ght. He is an introvert and always finds his catharsis and escape in writing especially poetry.