When your tongue gets sick, and your throat too dry to let the words come out, this is how you feel. PS: Just a random rambling in the caption. I don't know exactly from where I have to start my beginning, nor words are helping me to end this struggle, I have been facing from east to west and I find no sun, on my left hand, making my right hopeless, like our country's democracy. I look from top to bottom, but i only see people jumping in a pyre. Men, women, taking their children with them, and poisoning their sins to death, coz they believe in their dharma. I find myself burning. From ashes, I saw Virgina Woolf's poems were growing, with thick leaves, and autumn vibes. From the crevices, I saw the moon hiding it's face. I walked up to my shadow, but it moved farther, I ran to catch my breath, but the moment was breathtaking, like the news on television, that makes one sick, and I fell sick, the other day, finding debauchery on the right arm, and my decadence on top of me, pushing me under the bridge, where lifeless bodies hung like peacemakers flag. I screamed, Stop! but mercy walked infront of me, joining it's hands together in Namaste and I lay there, until protests against, Me too. I felt like dying, but a petition was filed on the court of global warming, how it's getting heated outside and forests are burning, with a plastic smile, I said, Surrogacy is the best option to keep wildfires in control. But abomination, told me it's secret, It's better to identify one truth and people abash you, than killing humanity and die with self loathing. Hold a sword, and mercy will pay you visit soon. I ran across the streets, shouting, what God has revealed to me, and soon, at the centre of city, all eyes gathered, with piled up emotions and empty scabbards. I told them to fill their empty stomachs before grief holds their throat like noose, and they started raising questions, like protest poetry. Our feet gets burned, when we walk barefooted to the temple, so tell us, Why our God made such rules? I said, Because dignity bornes out of patience. And a mother from the crowd shouted at me, Where is my daughter's dignity, I taught her freedom but now I feel chained to my thoughts. I looked at my feet, and found holes of pragmatism, where reality shook me. A depressed man, walked upto me, I want to know what is Freedom? I said, Freedom is breathing, where your art lives and you heal yourself. But can you tell me, what broke me? My emotions barged, elbowing my ribs and my stomach got heavy, I said, I am not hungry anymore. I saw, pity in his eyes and the house arrested memories, came back rushing to me, like a lover telling her beloved, how much she loves her and wraps her arms around her. I remember, what freedom is, it's you at your vulnerable, and the premises not holding you of any promises, and no publishing house, printing your expectations, as their terms and conditions. I sat there consoling, my reminisces coz I was broken. That boy held me up, and said, Why haven't you healed yourself yet? I said, Coz I was scared of losing her but my mother, misunderstood me, like my dream to her. She never accepted me, and I never let her hold me. The bridge fell upon me, and I dug beneath the skin, to find me, Who am I? Self discovering, is healing, when you have travelled a long journey from a numb city to a lover's dreaming city. The insecurities wrapping you up, makes your emotions, sound like, I don't know, when you exactly know, what you have been feeling all along. You take baby steps, to not harm yourself, or more like the other, whom you love, coz you have never felt anyone loving you like that, and you question, Is this What love is? But the world never leaves you alone, it knows well, Where you art is.
