What about these Emotions?

Every cloud will have been begged upon, the orphans overly neglected and the seasons overturned, yet one sits and he wonders—the unforgiving life that revolves most dramatically, snatching and slating, guitars without any strings, unresponsive pulses, magnets without any pull and the winter most beautiful, but without any ice.

We have, for the most of this journey, unable to fathom the reality of ourselves, let alone be shrined to everything that is around us. The shifting wings of a butterfly, just as the next drop of rain falls, faint and dissolutely withdrawn from everything that is us, the leaves that never make it to the ground and the chinaware that has never been used—thinking that you’d make tea for your lover, knowing so well that she would never come.

To dress for the occasion when everything starts playing right in front of us—we sit and we think, unable to even think so we create this alternate reality that will distant us from the extremes of this life—for us to dress and eat and smile like the way we want it to. But have we ever stepped out of the parameters, to think what we ought to, or what is then, the abstractness that takes over.

It may be fantasy, but we are conformists to our own emotions that so plausibly takes control of everything at each step of our lives. Merry was once attractive, but the fear of chaos that is far more seductive. Birds will have stopped flying but our emotions that never do. It’s as if one is called to a party and the only guest that shows up is you, so you sit and think, and brink with the idea why nobody turned up. But most at play or everything that is—the overwhelming regret that only you made it to the party.

Or why do the libraries mourn or do not—when no one has touched its shelves in ages. What is there to feel, and who to feel with when there is so little known of this ‘big’ emotion behind it? Seldom days and repetitive love songs crying over the inadequate speakers but who or what to feel when one should not be feeling anything?

The very thought that keeps us going each day, yet siphoned to the epicenter of our beautiful destruction—quite an irony in perspective, in trying to create a neutral outcome at a given point in time. In fact, the veracity of our emotions at play right now, there are so many, with so much disorder that if combined, every particle in the universe will have been torn.

So what do humans even do with this ever melting pot of emotions?

A dire need for satisfaction crippling out of one’s heart—to desire acceptance and harmony, that if unfulfilled, one may end up on the verge of deciding between life and death. Rushing of debris during a tempest, similar to those that run inside the brain when emotions are at peak—placidly forcing a person to act quickly, to make things at ease again, and for all that we know, the one emotion that is at play all the time.

With no intentions of living outside ones comfort zone, there is so little to be known of this so called life. It’s like one is bedridden with a serious illness and there is no cure. Our lives that are at play that we are never able to grasp the reality of our own selves, the mind that ought to think without the rewards of any particular emotion.

So build a shrine and bow down to the mover of rocks and storms, creators of affection and rejection, purity in happiness and destruction in joy, texture of the high clouds and the severity of the low tides, magic of the cosmos and the imperfect sands—we are but locked inside our own emotions.

-Yogesh Chandra