"Whispers of the Unraveled Mind"

It flickers in the sky as if I have forgotten it already, or maybe it was just a daydream that I lost.

People say time flies but am still here counting each fragment of it slowing decaying into another. This is similar to honey dropping bit by bit from a spoon which has been under bright sunshine for long. My mind is full of echoes from long gone days.

Before I could realize, murmurs and ancient folk songs flood my thoughts. The drone of a refrigerator turns into the traffic’s melancholy cry…then laughter somewhere not far away. Maybe that someone is me; maybe not; who cares anyway?

After all, whoever we are, we are just reflections of those we wanted to be.I had believed I was unique. I had hoped to be a poet at some point but now the words are falling short like smoke through my fingers and I am only holding their ghosts.

Ghosts of what, I am not really sure. Perhaps commitments to myself that were made while the night was soft and near, somewhere close enough to be touched – a knit blanket made by my grandmother whose hands were always at work, always making always stitching.

Maybe this is what I’m doing here – stitching these thoughts together hoping they will turn into something solid if I continue long enough.

But what if they never become anything?

What if at the end of it all they simply come apart – fragile and without value?I have had faith in something before.

I guess. Or maybe that was an occasion the way women change – being but remaining invariant.

Don’t we do the same thing as well just like that? Our personality changes while we maintain that it remains the same .The same as me who would always laugh at light’s behaviour; it feels different after the rain but still real.

I used to be like what I felt that day standing near the edge of a tall building feeling indestructible.

It is different now that I stand on every edge feeling insignificant, a mere grain of sand or dust floating in mid air.

At least for a fraction of a second, during which sun rays break through and hit it directly, it is not invisible, so it sparkles— for whom we will never know.Who’s actually watching when everything appears to move at lightning speed yet more slowly than ever before. Just like a river, no matter what you do.

May be it is because we are all tired, not necessarily because of the movement but for trying to stay put. Just attempting to grasp something substantial in a world disappearing.

Occasionally I feel like screaming but words clot my mouth, sticky as a cotton candy, eventually vanishing before they are spoken. It is easier to keep mute instead of talking; it is better to have silence talking because silence does not require any answer. You do not have to know the way forward through silencing your soul.Quietness is. It is like the sky. Even when it is too bright with city lights and you cannot see. Even so, the stars are still there. Like those memories we have tried so hard not to forget.

And what is memory loss really? Is it good or bad? Would you rather rid yourself of the burden of what weighs down on you everyday or lose parts of ourselves that were all we used to be?

I have never felt whole by the way. More like fragments of a puzzle that do not fit well together but which are part of one large drawing. May be, When looked up closely.If you look at it with slightly blurred eyes, it will make sense of the shapes and colors.

Sometimes is the time when one should look beyond the scope once in a while,

just as if you could see the fog on trees early in the morning hiding everything

as if it were a dream from which one is not prepared to wake up from so soon.

But dreams also vanish away, do they not?

They escape through your palms like a drop of water slipping away irrespective of how much closely you hold onto them.

Possibly, such thing is meant to happen.

Probably it was never intended for us to grasp them dearly.

Possibly we should release them.

Just hover.

Maybe like riding waves of breezes but with no definite direction,

and trusting that the breeze will find a way to take us there.Do you see any way to trust what you cannot see,

do not touch or hold on to?

How can you put trust in anything with the ground shifting beneath our feet like walking on sand dunes where every step sinks deeper,

the horizon always remaining unreachable?

Possibly, that is where the beauty lies.

In stretching.

In attempting.

In not knowing but proceeding anyway.And I ask myself whether it’s adequate.

Even when you are not certain about the direction to move in.

If it’s enough just to keep going forward.

And the road curves and vanishes into the fog sometimes.

In fact, fog is the only thing that may appear rational on some occasions.

For instance, you might find out that it safeguards you from the harsh boundaries of reality.But then the sun comes up and burns it all up,

and you are standing in the light of reality,

squinting, blinking, trying to adjust but never adapted to it.

You’re never entirely at ease with how everything is just in view, too focused or quite far away.

May be this is why we run after dreams,

For they do not impose too much on us,

They do not request us to be anything more than we already are

And I'm weary of being more

Tired of trying to squeeze myself into spaces made for anyone but me

Tired of wearing masks that are foreign to me.But what if we tried to take off those masks?

To expose ourselves to the world—naked, scared and vulnerable?

Would they take us to their hearts or avert their gaze,

shying away from the fact that every one of us does not know who they are…

We are like children who have lost their way inside a labyrinth or Amaze! Maze Games on primary games!

However, suppose the maze were never meant for finding a way out but for journeying along its paths with no purpose of reaching an end.

After all, what is there outside?

Only more riddles.

More uncertainty.

It is all the same.So what’s the reason for not making this your home amidst all this chaos in your life?

In your bewildered state

Why not allow that to simply be enough?

Simply let everything be

Neither more nor less than it actually is—

Only this.

Only now

Only…

that which follows.