Mind of Mine

There is an air of discomfort, one that is plausibly sheering every heart that once loved or mind that ever thought. It’s been a while, but what’s more demanding is the ability to continue holding onto this gift that so blatantly ignores any rainbow that is to shine at each step of our lives.

Our lives are such conditioned that any miss-step leads to chaos, one that takes a lifetime to get over with. In this craft that is so pure, an imaginary character has to dwell and make it unimportant—at least that’s what it should feel like.

The mind is an utterly beautiful thing, for all that it does—play with the residuals of grief each time a bird flips its wings. So much for an ordinary to comprehend, but what’s more compelling is that nothing is ever alright, but the feeling of discontent that so casually binds the arena.

I would have thought, that things would just get better one day, and the tides would stop rebelling against me, the flowers would stop dictating my intellect, splashes of summer would stop narrating my heart break and that the winds would stop making me feel hopeless each time they touched.

The beauty is that nothing ever left, and all that is, moments of blur that still holds onto me. I wished and I got overly neglected, and all that remains, spotless scars that will forever tell me that nothing is going to be alright, ever.

Just as the sun melts unto us each time we do something antagonistic, and the ice cracks while we continue with the fancy steak, unaware of the conundrum that is taking over the world. Have we ever stepped outside our comfort zones, for the skies and the merely indecent cosmos, they wait for us, for us to wake up and do something with our lives.

I have lost any hope that would take me any further, for destruction is the new game, and all that holds, the child that once dreamt but never got a chance to even breathe. Love is but a word that never fascinates, but the feeling of rejection that forever touches the soul like it’s the only thing dear.

This mind of mine, one that is tired of everything that once shun or tried to make me happy, all but a fantasy that only lasted for a few pretentious days. I still remember, the feeling of being loved, like it was the only thing that existed, the feelings of hope and strength, but look at my mind now, barely recalling any moment that filled me with ecstasy.

Let’s not stay alone, but be fastened to our own conviction that takes us nowhere. It’s a game, for the tempests no longer care about us, or we about them, and all that is, retaliation that scores above everything. Humans are a special creation, but what gets us to our knees is that we could never understand our own selves, let alone conquer the world.

-Yogesh Chandra