I spend my nights questioning the cosmos

To find no answers for the inexplicable ethos

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we won't fear,
the world to see,
what lies in our hearts!?

oh! but wait,
it's just me
and rest all is the art!

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The caverns of my memories
filled with endless longings
for a self that has been lost, long
enough to never again exist;
In a world that has cared deep
to be filled with the lost existences
of all those who exist, unknown.

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Isn't it strange, what we know shouldn't be inside us: the guilt,pain and suffering, we always find a way to let it in? Sometimes, it happens in the cold, desolate nights and at others on days when nothing goes right. We cling to it and keep it close, the pain. Is it because that we have come to believe it as something our really own, something that won't leave us even if everything else does?
We always keep it close enough that we go back to it time and again, embrace it, find solace in it, because it is always there. Undying and endless.

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“All the things you know, someone knows more. All the things you don't know, there's someone who knows less. In everything you're aware and in everything you aren't—stay grounded in your awareness of your mortality.”

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“Humans have always found a sense of irrevocable, inexpressible kind of humane vulnerability and empathy in reading from stranger's diaries or private letters. I'm inferring to Anne Frank, Nikola Tesla, and of course Kafka and many more noteworthy writers, whose private lives are now treasured pieces of literature and history. Even the New Testament of the Bible is vastly composed of letters. What is privacy or what is private in all its essence? When, we as humans are social as any? Either we are remembered or we are forgotten like we never existed. What do we know of Da Vinci's insecurities or of Beethoven's train of thoughts when he wrote Moonlight Sonata — with his fading hearing? In the end, our privacy is also not in our hands. The stories written may be utterly hoax or stringently true, either way we will never see the light of day to defend the truth or protect our secured privacy.”

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"....&, After crossing the river of reality, there come a shoreline at which you start questioning every possible thing that's happened, happening or to be happened. Those choices you're forced to made despite your opinions haunts you. that deep Symphony of "Melancholy of may be" destroies you by its high intensity. & there, after crossing the lake of hope, you come across another challenge. You start to find answers of those things which haunted you for years, pushing every sane & insane & malignant & contretempt things out of its orbit. No, its not curiosity, Its Quest. & may be, after you conquered these quests, you can rest in solace. But, no. Thats not how universe functions. Every end is a new beginning. Every quest that you come across, is abide to show you your true identity. For,its not the responsibilities that makes you hero.
Its those adversaries you come across & the efforts that you put in it to survive the brutality & coming out of it, despite the fact whether you're Victor or victim makes you hero. End the end, nothing matters. All matters is, what you've learned while your quest & journey was alive..."

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In the End,
End doesn't even Matters ..!!

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Existentialist


You have lots and lots of experiences.. and then one day you die..

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Everyone wants to live
but no one knows how,

and we want to die
not knowing why,

We wish to die
remembering how to live

and with a smile knowing
how we failed.

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