Things We Do Not Hear About

All beauty erodes, fragrances fade selfishly and seasons leave us with permanent emotions, and still, to the greater surprise, we cannot get over the idea that it was, but an epiphany of life, or the result of our inactions, a vast diaphragm of ‘attractive steps’ undertaken that never does any good.

It’s a race, and it’s most unfair to us, given the conditionals of the game that have been dictated right from the moment a child is born. To breathe life into us, or who to ask if no one ever enlightens. The action in progress, about who will make it to the top is predominantly alluring, and it’s no surprise that there is so much chaos that we’ve unintentionally, but for the race, intentionally created.

Never was it, for our selfishness isn’t worth any star, or dust. The desires to be happy, and with it, lists filled with unending conditions, quietly making it impossible to breathe, and perhaps that’s what is left of everything.

To sit under the light shaded branch, numbed by the last three rays of sun, beside a cottage that sung symphonically at night, churning plainly with the wildest of the thoughts and holding a cup filled with red tea, forgetting that it even exists, is what’s today should be, but never is. Could this be even written about, if not practiced for the greater search for answers?

No time for us to appreciate the singularity, as the flock of birds swerve across the splendid space of joy, marveled by our existence, but still keeping theirs vital. And all we ever did was look up in superiority, and never in solidarity, but an act to seek approval of who we think we ought to be. Oblivious to their persistent needs, they continue to walk, and fly till the end of each plentiful sky that could ever be glided over with.

There is a song tuning over the horizon, it’s mast tied to our emotional tendencies to grieve, to swirl with beams of love and hate that nobody could tell, but enlist as an accomplice, and beauty never gets any dull, but us, who can no longer enjoy the same song that once made us ecstatic, pardoned with grace, so little known of who we truly are, a masterpiece of destruction that always gets the better of us at each step.

One last time, but who is it that repeats, the laws of nature that converge right in front of us, unlike us who always strike behind its back, to beat the system, but who are we even trying to cheat?

So the next time when life undresses each one of us, penniless souls that need no further prayers, stuck between the lines of shared darkness and light, and amongst the spaces of acceptance and rejection, look up, the ever fervent rays of happiness that have nothing but a body which breathes. So much to thank for in this melting pot of life.

-Yogesh Chandra