So perverse are our pent-up feelings, aren’t they?
With the passing of the transient days and nights aren’t we turning too fickle-minded?
Often we tend to obfuscate our own hearts before our minds. But do we really have the time to question ourselves why do we do so?
No matter how much do we claim to fathom the hearts of our soulmates, we are heading off to a day when we will end up in a fiasco. Never can we read the feelings in our bosom. Going through another soul just out of love does not come in modern day dictionaries of life. It is an absurd concept, a concept to which we can never escalate ourselves.
Involving a tone of subjectivity here might not be apt. Irrespective of our acceptance, I can safely say that almost all of us find young adolescents making a vain show of love under the disguise of modernity. Their affectations have transported them to a new essence of life where they can claim that its their beloved’s love that wakes them up to lovely mornings or lulls them to sleep.
Doesn’t the warm sun exist in their worlds of love?
Doesn’t the bright moon talk to them in solitude?
Standing at this juncture of life where we utterly fail in our process of being unflagging, doesn’t it sound quite paradoxical when the young hearts claim to glow in their lovers’ glow?
Do their words come with a realistic tone when they claim their lovers’ voices to be the only mellifluous tone?
When they pass by the ailing and vagrant mothers of the society with an air of indifference, can it be said that they know what love means?
I can venture to say that I don’t love the way others do. I can even be branded as a social deviant for not keeping in tune with the vogue of the modern day. But I can claim to see the vibrancy of the unfathomable darkness of the night. I can claim to hear the immortal silence of the distant moon above.I can claim that the forlorn cries of my hungry brothers on the streets do not fail to reach out to my ears. I can claim to visualise a myriad of stars smiling at me. I can claim that I don’t make a superficial show of my feelings. I can claim that the hustling wind talks to my soul in solitude. I can claim that love does not have me in thrall. I can claim that I don’t dupe the quintessential serenity of love. I can claim that I don’t let love circumscribe my imaginations. I can claim that I don’t fall out of love with every passing day.I can claim that my love does not procrastinate my encounter with the reality as other’s do.
I flounder while I try to understand what humanity and love mean in today’s world. Maybe they simulacrum transience. Can humanity be attributed to humans any more?
It might also be that my perceptions are gravely wrong.
I am stumbling these days on the streets of life as I am failing to abide by these trends.
But I am happy being a failure. At least I don’t surreptitiously dwell in a world of utter falsity. I happily flout other’s concepts of life. I can cater to the needs of my soul and not to the cliches of the modern day.
I can disentangle myself from the cobwebs of the world. My heart beats to the music of my existence.