This too shall pass.” Yes, a cliché. But then again it is always that last, false ray of hope we deceive ourselves with. You know what is boring? A life full of clichés. A life of apathy. A life full of perplexity. A life of regrets. A life of griefs. Because you get tired of the same kind of misery over and over again.
I have visited the cities of dead people and silent oceans. I have seen glistering chaos of vibrant glaze and destroyed souls. I have had the best of best and the worst of all. But I can not name this phase; a bad luck, melancholy, a glum or a phase of all the ugly happenings. I know that there are people miserable than me but I too, am burdened with this abyss. Life got off the track and the traveler has lost the focus. The consistent determined eye has lost the shot. Helpless and lonesome, the soul is like a writer who cries over the death of a character he created and killed himself. Like a painter who tries to narrate stories in a few splashes of colors but the tales end up as ugly blotches on that clear canvas. When even the blank sheets stop to murmur in that abandoned room and the fingers reject to blacken the pages, spreading the words and venting despair.
In my soul is yearning for happiness same as the feel of longing in an orphan kid’s eyes. The spirit has guilt same as that present in the tears shed in an empty mosque early in the morning. You know what is the most wrecked feeling of all? Not having a single person to count on. Not having a single soul to have support from. You can not solve the mysteries, you may not find all the riddles but you surely need the shoulder to cry upon. You need the hand to hold and eyes to read your face. I am pressed by the burden of sighs and tears so hard that I wonder how shall I lift my self to walk again. There are so many things to break and not even a single thing to hold on back. The regrets in eyes and the broken hopes in sighs, the silent tears and the fearful cheers, where exactly this train is leading? When even the new sun refuse to bring the fading ray of hope and the parting orange chum doesn’t promise to gather some happiness for the other day.
Hovered by sorrows, disappointments and a lot of melancholy, it is just a depressed soul locked in some body. Never understood and not unleashed, the misery is as piercing as the cold, sharp, pricking gusts of chilling December which slaps the cheek like iron bars. The mask of fake happiness is so passionately stick to face that it seems to have painted there, completely losing the ray between reality and forge nature. Just like that passionate learner whose skin of fingers is sliced by the strings of guitar but the mania keeps him playing and melodious rhymes are created. Like the poet jotting lyrics out of broken verses, the flawed words and silent whispers; tunes, melodies, together forming symphony of life.
Standing alongside that silent sea, I am reminded of how exactly the orange, gloomy, parting sun is crying like my distressed soul. As cold and numbed as any heartless father who’ll reject to accept the child born after years only because its a girl. It couldn’t be shared for it is a sacred secret in the senseless lullabies. It fills the soul with agony and despair. A disturbed mind, a numbed soul, teary eyes and shaking hands with quivered lips; a gorgeous mess it is. A reminder of those faces where sincerity and honesty was spent but selfishness burnt the threads of relations is just destructive for the fragility of being. How you want to wash out the flashbacks, the reminders and how often you get the relapses; that phase of dangling between severe wretchedness is where I stand, helpless, alone, odd, awkward. That moment when you realize that you are completely alone, there is no one left to be your rock even. All the memories go across the mind and you wonder if it is your real self or not. Success should be happiness and satisfaction. When you look back at what you did today and smile rather than regretting, it should be success. Not to turn into some expectation-meeting-machine and map out the life as others direct.Not everyone gets a happily every after. Life is real and sometimes it’s ugly and you just have to learn how to cope. We all pity ourselves way too often. And mostly its all about selecting between a bunch of wrong choices rather than the right ones.
But then again life has a way of adding day to day. So, this phase without even short respite will meet its eternal happiness soon. Because, “It too shall pass..”(Hira Nazir)