I sought out solitude, yearned and craved for it;
For I thought it would fill me up with infinity.
Instead I find myself doped up; the eternal universe
When stared into, instead of life’s goals and glories
Manifests an infinite grief — at such depth
I’m terrified by my own thought.
Immovable that I’m, I gathered a force, an awakening.
Today is the day I must confess; Long hours of speculation,
need to end; for everything should have its logical closure.
Irrational that I am, I gained a logic, a reason
Today is the day I must deduce; the confounding nature
Of my tranquility; for it seems a greyhound.
The abyss of uncertainty, triumphed by the reality of truth.
Though truth is one bad omen away from being dethroned.
Like a dew drop clinging onto wet grass blades,
On a rainy day when the sun decided to not shower love.
Truth is clinging onto that subjective emotion,
One that is bordering on the perimeter of hope;
For the truth is always the one that we want it to be.
Insistent, dissatisfied and without any aim.
Like the timeless mourner of life’s sceneries; a Herculean despair.
The time now seems ripe; to set aside indifference
To be decisive; although temporarily — an isolated drive.
To escape from the clutches of life’s somnambulism.
An arbitrary, albeit a delightful redemption
Of the oft-imbecile manoeuvres, of feeble mortality.
Seemingly woken up from a dull lethargy, a needless self-effacement.
A notion so pronounced.
But, feeble mortality can not be conquered, like the moon and the sun.
Like the stars; Might it be masked though.
By a temporal whilst sincere valour of clouds take shape,
Concealing from the all-so-powerful, from outwardly influences.
Give in, they would in eventuality to the rightful vanquisher.
That incognito although won over, ain’t doped.
Instead filled with a possibility of hope, an escape.
For what are we when we concede to the eventuality of fate?
What does history talk about in the absence of a dream?
And so I dream; I dream a dream for all of us.
For the white and the coloured, for the elite and the plebiscite
For the mortal and the divine, for you and I, us.
I dream a dream where the ill-intended fate is triumphed.
Not, might I say by historic transformations, neither a reversal of fortune;
But by the conviction of our mind, by the bravery of our heart.
By reckless embrace of circumstances. Life’s nonchalant attribution.
By not letting it dictate to us.
That lingering joy of not giving into rhythms of life
That victory of threading the straits of precision-imprecision.
That ferocious, grandiose thing called life being defeated,
That deepest of courage from the oceanic depths of heart.
We make a mould of what we want us to be;
A symbolism that’d defeat the un-sounding void of life.
I dream a dream where we laugh at the finite presence of fate;
Our ecstasy of wilderness too much for it to bore.
Gives up like an overcast and we be our sun, our moon
And our stars; just not stardust.
For that must we know, just how we’d live it.
Long time since naked beginnings we are fed of uncertainty,
Out of an unknown we came, heading into another, everything so transitory
Shall give away to a heartless monster — called death
Monsters they are, but can’t run away from the residual permanence.
The temporary infinity; Comprehend the little unknowns we must,
For there are a plethora of them; Fore-bade we must not,
For what is there to living if not hope.
The silent shadow of misery must be humoured and chided,
For it wore a thousand shapes and bore numberless names.
The lingering self doubt and apprehension, crushed they must be,
For it would sink a thousand hopeful ships; Oh the evil ripple!
Rest we must not; Complacence and content are monsters like sea,
That would sink an entire universe when the time is nigh!
Breach we must the silence marge’, escape the night muse.
Like the dawn that drowns everything of the dusk, seeking a new beginning.
Not let anyone tell us about the inevitability of change, for there is no such.
All within our universe it is; dare I say it is self
Our own monsters we are, our own evil, our own celestials!
Why must we forego, umpteen passionate months for a day of non-living?
Why must we recluse the blue-mountains of our soaring youth for a supernatural darkness?
Come as many times it may, see through it we shall.
The moment that takes away our unbridled joy of living,
Let it, we must not, live and thrive imperishably in us.
Only then will it bow at us, its transient nature being realised,
Albeit the action permanence. Invisible, a ghost of its own self,
Would it fade away into oblivion, with her spirit broken
In times invariance she will seek, her deserved finish
Like phoenix we must rise, leaving our dwindled ashes of trepidation behind
To drown all other sound beyond
Life, in its charades, in our in-conscience, let it not grow to be our monster
The singularity of us, lies it does, in our conviction to fight.
P.S : From preparations we grow, into a message and I’ll, allow me, keep the verse growing.
