Wilted Flowers

It’s a tough race, to make it to the top and look back at the chaos the so articulately crafted us. So much has been spent on thinking, the goer never walks and the giver never shows humility. In this speeding environment of love and hate, there is so much at stake that not even the cosmos comprehend—the magnitude of destruction, merry and Alice, heartbreak of the century, closed doors to purgatory.

Nobody ever shows, or what is this overwhelming desire to be loved, pardoned for the emotional game that always has us playing in-between. Humans, the thread to creativity and confusion at the same time.

Living like dolls but running like magnets and still to one’s amuse—so much of us that is being washed away, all by no one, but us. The fragrance of our success, everyone ignores, but the bitterness of our defeat—everyone admires.

Melody so obsolete, curtains scream and still no one hears. The vase has all its flowers drowned, but we still cannot get up and re-change the water. The worst days of regret, satisfaction pouring out of someone else, and this is not the way we ever imagined the world to be.

Spaces between you and I, nobody to fill but our egos. There is an unflattering song playing over the radio but what did the wise ever do besides tuning in more, our race that falls collectively. The sonic winds no longer walk amongst us and the wild can no longer tolerate us, all but in the name of capitalization that descends us into the hole that we would never want to be inside.

Hunger has a new name and the rich are still not aware of it. Unemployed graduates lying on the streets, asking of nothing but a few penny to their name, writing poetry and dancing against the winds just to keep the rhythm flowing, but the cruelty that is just so overpowering.

So light a candle, or pray as much as you can, but the beats won’t change. All the worlds scent has hallowed into nothingness as the flowers now know, they have to rebel against us. The game has long ended, but it is us, the ‘upper kind’ who so brilliantly find means to generate excuses.

So close to each other, that space means nothing now, and it is now that one realizes, no one is going out of here without paying for the costs. The great ones told us, and it is us, who so promisingly convinced everyone otherwise. But in the end, who are we even cheating?

-Yogesh Chandra