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Remains of the dead

I am pretty much dead; my life has lost direction and I'm still trying to figure out my life purpose. If I were born in a country that was not free I would have had plenty to lose and much to fight for. My life purpose would have been crystal clear. But fortunately I was born in a free country which unfortunately is still in the shackles of the world that controls its movements. The world that still hasn't looked beyond India as a land of ill-dressed sadhus and ill-bred professionals. And if it has, I wonder what stops us from acting otherwise. I'm still trying to figure out what stops us from being ourselves, working for one another, helping each other along our paths and maybe combating problems together - with that gun pointing at one common enemy. The gun though is bi-directional, it faces many of us within at the same time pointing outward at a common enemy, and that's called 'bondage'. We're not only bound by the world outside, but we're also bound within ourselves so much as to imbibe this world and its ways. I am really not sure what drives us ahead - if it is the world and its ways we're looking to assimilate, we're surely at poles with ourselves. We're expected to be bound and we choose to remain bound in the most disgraceful of ways - we're poor; we're starving - yet we want everything that the world chooses to bestow upon us at the cost of our gun. And we so comfortably point at each other to face the big gun that points towards us every single moment of our lives.

I'm like this rudderless ship sailing in a vast ocean; I wish I could. But this earth and all the dirt that just doesn't let you be yourself acts like broken mast in a sea full of thorns. No matter how hard you try to sail, there is always a chance that you'll never really make a stand. If you do and slip, be prepared to crunch the thorn.

Life could have been a little better inspite of dire circumstances and I would have at least wanted to live for tomorrow, had it been for love. And my life is falling short of love miserably. There is a void and it sort of drenches every streak of light that I would like to see for myself in times to come. This hard rain, the void is hard to define. Maybe it's just one person. She won't come. She's gone, how I wish she weren't. And is this post about me? 
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Anonymous said…
Yes.
Friday, 07 September, 2012
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