Wisdom taught me to open windows of heart,
but with experience i learnt to keep the curtains down.
At times the word learning is just used to give a smiling face to the struggle.
Calender read Oct 19, 2021.
Watch read 19.46.
But i was sipping cola from college canteen in 2009,
and worrying about the appraisal of March 2022.
All these while chipping the overgrown nail of index finger and waiting for 19.50 local train.
It felt as if the urge to escape from routine present made me a drama writer, who is simultaneously working on two stories. Both would not end in mind, but screenplay born out of overthinking would be potent enough to numb the present. Adding more air to the bubble of past and sucking every drop of hope that future could hold onto seems to be an art human has mastered while going through evolutionary process.
Or maybe mind wanted a high without consuming any substance. So mind began creating a cocktail of timelines.This episode made me ask a few questions to self.
Am i living my life?
Am just busy hijacking the moment with memories and imaginations?
Do we spend most of our times thinking about life, trying to predict outcomes, making ourselves believe that good is already gone and there is no chance it can recur ?
Do we subconsciously prevent ourselves from experiencing something new or unknown?
I am sure this has happened with many of you and many times. It is still happening without you even realising it.
The drama won't end easily. But being aware of the drama may always help.
seconds are outgrowing minutes,
minutes are distracting hours,
hours are tiring days,
days are reducing months to weekends,
months are forgetting seasons amd stealing years,
years are comsuming your life,ageing you,
you think you can control life with reminders amd alarms
Life had some moments where heart was in dilemma,
whether to pump-up in rage
to skip the beat,
whether to rush through the emotions
pause to repeat,
whether to break open the chest
bury it deep.
But i decided not to tear the page then,
and orphan the story of an infant emotion.
Just left it blank and folded,
in the arms of unfinished story,
which is still unfolding with every passing heartbeat,
with a hope that ink will mature one day,
just enough to let the folded page bloom into an answer,
heart felt for but couldn't seek.