Woe is Me, I Am Lost

On the coldest warm night, bundled up in bed with droopy eyes, before the eyelids could drop to shut, a tear fell—born from the sorrow of the soul, blending into the inky blackness of the night sky. A sigh of despair escaped, a breath drawn too deep, drowning my soul, mind, and body in thoughts. My life, as rigid as it could be, twisted by the knife of emotions—delicate as a whisper in the wind, heard by few, understood by even fewer. The warmth of a soft, cozy blanket pulled me into a flashback—an irreplaceable memory flickering through the golden flood of my melancholy. The words of an infant, his soft goopy hands in mine, in fleeting, lonely warmth—an Eden-like place—his voice, shaggy but velvety, whispered: “Elder Sister Cousin, to my little eyes, you are the purest goodness I have ever known.” Those words struck the core of my bruises and scars, hidden deep within the soul of love and desire. My mind wandered, lost in thought. If being good left me this way, then goodness is nothing but a synonym for bruises to me! Before my eyes could rain, he left a small light in my hands, saying it was a gift. But deep within my arteries and veins, my heart felt it as a beacon, one that might guide me to the shores of jocund—a truth my mind whispered slowly, calmly, as if daring me to believe!

This was enough for me to delve into my life's ongoing wars, which left me scorched by my own existence. My mind spiraled into an endless cycle of lament, while my lifeless hand failed to lift a piece of paper—to spill out the forlorn flood of emotions. My life, flayed by struggles and efforts, perhaps the doctor forgot the stitches, leaving my life bleeding unceasingly. My declined youth’s emotions—fragile as a petal caught in the wind—etched deeper wounds upon my soul. My house, but never a home; a family with a mother and father, yet never a mum or dad. My life was at war with the world where education seemed true and real, but my soul craved knowledge. Marks meant everything irrespective of my essence found in words. I sat in class, surrounded by lovers and friends, yet I remained unseen—silent, numb, and dumb. I yearned for a soul who could solve the Rubik’s cube of me, using a formula only I could provide. As I wandered this thorny road, muttering to myself, I kept searching for support—reaching out to old friends with a heart too kind to see the cruelty staring back. If only cruelty had just one face, but my history paints it in many. Those for whom I sacrificed everything abandoned me for nothing.

Tired, with a broken back and a shattered heart, I placed my sorrow in my mother’s lap—believing she was the only one. But before the word could speak, she left, too. And I, too weak to hold on, let it all out—screamed, wept, even shouted—only to become the joker, the fool they laughed at. My last hopes—mother, father, family—shattered, and I drowned my sorrow in the solace of my pillow, night after night. Music—my only refuge—spoke where my voice failed. Yet despite everything, the people around me still asked, “Why are you so forlorn?” And when I finally tried to answer, they never truly listened. That, perhaps, is my greatest failure—not in life, but in ever being heard. Before I could taste the sublime moments of my life, I was left on the brink of despair. I was a child who once brought laughter to silent walls but had now become nothing more than a silent wall myself.

Yet, before life could shut its door on me, I faced a night unlike any other—a night filled with the hope of hopelessness. Walking and sobbing to fate, my feet carried me to the edge of a calm, steady stream, flowing just below my eyes. Eyes filled with pure, pearl-like tears, each drop tracing an undisturbed path to its shore—water. The eye’s pearls, the soul, and the mind—each finding solace, a home. A reverie clouded my mind with a lie—what if I jumped in and became free like the water? What if I let myself drift upon its surface, carried to a place never imagined? Would it wash away my hardships and guide me to the garden of my lost serenity? Awed yet calm, I stood petrified, trapped between two fates. Could death be a better place than a lifeless existence? My mind swirled with endless questions, yet I was left with only two choices: to jump or not.

Before I chose, my heart pounded loudly. I saw the moon shining—transcending even the sun and quasars, and a divine whisper stirred within my heart: “Why fear, when I got you?” A divinity leading me back to life! As my house came into view, I whispered a promise to God: "Thank you for this chance. I vow never to make such a mistake again." But promises, oh, how fragile they are. Before I could travel further through life, I forced my heart to beat again, hoping to reignite the light within me. To believe, just once more, that life could be okay. But I was left unheard—neither dead nor truly alive. Perhaps even my last hope, the divine, had left me alone for this test.

Life grew harder. I found myself slipping—alone, again—into the abyss of despair. My story—carving my heartbeat with whispers of my soul’s name. It echoed across the silent, dark room, where no noise existed except for the name assigned to me—'Woe.' It reached my ears, sinking deep into my soul, carried by a cold, stiff breeze that mocked me with its cruel whisper: “You are lost, again!”

Writer: Eiman Asif