I am a soul. I have heart. It beats. I am a human. I breathe.
Sitting down under the light on this night, I purge myself off the feel that I get all quite too often.
I am a willfully alone man who has grown accustom to his loneliness.
I am a human and so I believe I am prone to adaptation. At times that adaptation can be against the nature of mankind as well.
These attenuated colloquies have made a culpable persona dependent on complaisance, proving ineffective. Classified into this diabolical person in the eye of my close friends, I too feel like a battledore and shuttlecock in medium of rich stupid. But I restrain myself off this ignis-fatuus, though one may be indocible still one feels like being cowed to such seduction. Indeed at the end of the day there is some element of dolorifuge.
My age is not just a number. Even if it sounds like a cliché, its true. My age is a combination of sad expectations and brutal but just, strikes by the reality. As a result, my age is a soul-engrave-badge of endurance towards letting down of almost everything that I ever kept dear to myself.
I don’t see a point in life, love, money, marriage, children, charm, fame or fortune.
There is this energy in me, that just makes me wonder, if its sacred? May be being up at this time of night, I am forced to exert myself to exertion. May be, the option of going into a sleep is just too comfortable that it irritates me to experience such pleasure.
Surely, I am depressed. Par chill karo yar, some day the forsaken diseases will come and consume me.
May be with no attachments, I am free to be selfishly miserable of all that goes away due to my voluntary inaction. May be this is the adaptation, tailor-made for me. That’s how wisdom numbs the soul off any contagious passion. May be this feeling is the new happiness.
To my friends I am dog in the manger, preaching graveled ode of the forlorn. I see the expression on their faces as if they smell some feigned hawker.
Coddling of their old theories of love and hate is nothing but a lifelong ague, like a legal appanage distributed at birth. Woo the world as if you are some luster on the ceiling. Preceding events will find such insecure in surfeit onto nuisance of necromancy.
So, edict the castrated while they can. But I choose to enforce my will till the very end of the last exhaled breath that spills the soul out of me. I shall not care for what I hold dear to myself, they are nothing but the scars on my face. They mark, not the age but the pains I can experience at a time.
So, while I leave you with this post, there is a change we shall embrace together, our indifference. The abundant shall rule but the oppressed will remain united. Welcome to my life.