Unattended Questions—The Misunderstood Pandemic About Life

We have always been told not the question the authority of the law or the preacher who so cautiously coils an uninteresting decoration only to talk about its magnificence.

But the reality of things, when aggregated to the art of consciousness—things would just split both at the product and at the quantum level. It would seem that everything we know about the world is just a sketchy reflection of something that has been created for its greater misconception.

To say that a particular law is just and to say that it is not—humans have no idea what is or what ought to be. Passing the motion that everyone is happy sounds most reasonable when in-fact—circumstances have it running otherwise, and unto that consciousness. The same ecstasy may not have been there if the environment had something different to portray.

Every day is a struggle to breathe, to continue with the art of reflection that no one suspects you are down. In fact, to be down or depressed—doors of haven and classical enchantress opens, have you ever thought about it? Perhaps you may have or perhaps not. But what makes it a disease is that someone said so—maybe the feeling was just so unconditional.

And that is what they never understood. To be a challenger of decisions, in regret or harmony, those that always prosper. And it’s been like this—both ends of the spectrum which people continue to think of—“It’s Predetermined”.

To conceptualize our understanding from outdated literature and promising thoughts seem highly naïve. As I continue to write, ideas of undemanding rhetoric’s continue. If only one were to be compelled into believing that it is the only truth.

And love—such explicit phenomenon that nobody ever understands or if one touches—they are ripped apart by currents of grief. I continue to wonder, of the entirety that has been drawn to love and affection—a disregard to the kid on the street who can perhaps only dream of it.

Born without restrictions but the society makes it one. And to come into this world—perhaps it was just for the night of pleasure for the two young bodies. To say that love is pure, there is no definitive cause, or what about the falling wishes and igniting hate. Isn’t that life—or the beauty which has been such misconceived?

And when one says that nothing is true—all they do is silence him till the chords are dry and the doorstep of the last courtroom has been debated upon. Acting like we own everything—these humans have no idea what we are and what we never had. It’s just an elegant misery—imperfection inside the star which stares at us each Friday night. Be embraced with the unrealities because everyone and everything is just a fake diamond here.

--Yogesh Chandra