For why do we grief? What is that bitter feeling in the heart, the lump in the throat?
We grief when a being dies, a life that once could move but then became motionless. What is the grief? Is it a feeling of confusion or fear? Or is it the fruit of a soul within us? All of us intricately, inextricably linked, all feeling a universal understanding of the language of life, and death. Why do we cry when our parents or pet dies? Why do we feel melancholic when death of strangers and fallen souls flood the news, when we see a character fall still in a movie? It seems in a moment in time, we coexisted with death, with the lifelessness we see. We place ourselves in somebody else’s coffin. Grieve is really an incomprehensible feeling, a concoction of pain, fear, sorrow, regret, …
It shoves aside our daily hustles and reminds us the frailty of life, of every existence. Of how we are weak and still lost, even as we have tried not to be. It reconciles our reality which we often neglect such that we do not indulge or drown in grief.
The doldrums of life
Always filling the heart
suffocating the emotional being
lack of choices, thrown into dilemma
cannot escape, peripheral vision is encroached with darkness
What is the peace to seek
Where is it
What does it feel like to be free?
The pain resonates with the pulse
it never leaves, only arising like the tides
Like piercing cold waves hitting the heart
Maybe i‘ve totally lost it
lost the mind, the identity
the way to be free
to be sane and normal like (everyone) else
A train wreck that went off the rails in a long stretch of barren desert
without a single wind to mark its existence
But then again, the existence doesn’t matter, it will not in time’s clutches
i just seek/wish for an exit, an escape from this pit, the abyss with no light
any ways would be fine, even if it means to no longer exist in this physical cage
Sometimes the world feels staged,
Like in a theater
we i am the actor
and the onlooker,
The observer who participates
and the actor that spectates.
The everyday cycle
With the occasional thrill,
The predictable plot,
and the bland sourness and confusion.
Feels like a dream in a dream,
An unreal loop
The constant questioning feels
Like a character
Realizing his existence in the setting .
Yet the setting is all there is.
Binding his mind
As this soul,
A molecular speck of dust
In the many centers
Of the outstretched universe,
yearns for the day
when the final curtain is drawn,
The day when i am
Why have I changed so much?
Referring to past photos I’ve found myself a different person.
Why have the times slip through my fingers like sand?
It feels as though I’ve been stuck in quicksand, failing to progress but instead regress.
Why, of all things in the large scale of this universe, should I worry?
Why of all the words in the world do I not know how to describe this feeling within?
But everything else was silent.
Putting on that poker face,
Acting through the façade,
Smiling through the cracks.
The darkness within engulfs you,
The vines in your heart entangle you,
The shifting shadows enwreathe you.
You can feel the accelerating rhythm within you,
Still starts your mind racing.
What is the meaning of life?
Why do we try so hard when, after all, we are still specks of cosmic dust?
All these end when we draw our final breath, so why
Do we live?
When after all we have created our own environment
Outlived our purpose of survival
Disregarded the animal instinct
Cramped ourselves into those small office cubicles in the concrete jungle
When on the other end of the globe, they have barely any life in them
For whom does the bell tolls?
How the years have passed
Like seconds on a watch.
We never knew one day we would be out in the fields
Getting our own meat.
Married with our own families,
Watching our kids
Leave the nest to forge their path,
The cycle repeats.
Watching old Time running,
Taking me with it.