I drank the crescent moon As a glass of fresh wine which was never served to the regal. A plight took place in the plain night, Inside my mind, I pictured it, Allowed it to govern my actions. I stuffed my ordeals in a sack of archives I never wish to see again; thought of even eloping into the wilderness, What shall I name a desire such like this? A hermit's commitment? No, a solivagant's pastime. I let that sink in. So, while the fawning moon that razed between meadows and valleys lured me against the earthly gravity, My feets walked together. The oscillation was eerie, didn't had any idea where it was taking me, I let my membranes overpower my grey matter at that time. Time? For me, at that point, Time was a stopwatch whose every second agitated me. The fatal rattle of tick tocks gave me the curse of Ondine. Anyways, At a distant, I saw a road, convincing me to push my luck and hit it. Erupting a vision that like every other trailblazer's magic compass, I was stationed to an unknown wonderland. A solivagant's pastime? I thought again. And it was somewhere correct according to talks of the known faces across me. The known faces asked me to be more of a practical guinea pig, The thing I actually never wanted to be. Still on the crossroads of my mental duality. I simply let the other side live through me at this night. Because I don't know, Loose thoughts like this, These solivagant's pastime offered me more answers to the question that could have never been answered If I lived as a human monument that counted penny as a tool for high standard. I could rise high to the pride, Any levels of personal lionization But it would still be a facade. Because as I said, If I had a fair chance to live through the farcical reality of a solivagant, Life won't have been a time bomb for me.

The saturnalia comprised of everything I had seen, the past to the unseen future appears right infront of my eyes. It will be about the day which will come sooner or later, the inevitable abyss When the lights will be out forever, On the day I die, a lot of things will happen. Things will change but the tempo continues to flow. The tempo of life’s mercurial beats. On the day I die, O lord! Will that be a tragedy? The many plans I dreamed for will be undone forever. The words of my dearly critics which weighed heavy on me will discontinue stinging me. The arguments I believed I won will not serve me or entertain me any solace. All the material pursuits I thrived and chased To collect and treasure under my rug of power will be entrusted by inheritance or left to be discarded. My regrets will be resigned to the affairs of the shallow past, Although it had been there since the very beginning. Many fears yet to be conquered. Those we spent all our lives fighting against will be remain untouched; taking away the sensation of how it feels to be glorious and triumphant. Every superficial insecurities I laboured over, About my body, image and perfection will fade. All the anxieties which robbed my peaceful slumber each night will be away from the ordeal, it will be powerless. the reputation of mine as to a tome which cost me years to construct, will be of no concern to me anymore. The towering mysteries of life and death That consumed my mind will be clarified so well that even my demons beneath me couldn’t masquerade it like when it did when I was in a living form. On the day I die, Some of the people I knew will grieve They will feel as if they were not ready, A void shall strike them; they will feel cheated. Some will feel a part of them died too and at the same time For some the departure will be like a passing wind that didn’t even managed to blew the faintest leaf. On that day, The people who ‘I knew’, the one I expected to grieve More than anything in the world will want more time with me. I know this from those I love. And by knowing this, while I am still alive I will try to remind myself that my time with them Is finite and so transient; and gravely precious. And I will try my best not to waste a second of it. I vow upon myself not to dissipate a moment on the Things that are beyond my control and those which never really matter at the face of our fallen curtains. I was not born to be the part of parcel of the facts which led me to reckon matter; Which led me to bulwark the fruits of liveliness. And for this I will be dancing with the people while I can still smell the fragrance of the flowers And telling everyone around me That they matter to me more than anything else.

In our lives, we are propelled with various emotions that rule our sanity. Putting emphasis on our instincts driving our mind besides happiness, sadness and anger there is the one which chills our spine and raises our heartbeats with panic. Yes, we call it fear. The everlasting nemesis to our valour. Fear can arise from many internal and external factors combined. Most customary are the fear of being in crowds or of high skyscrapers which enlists in different phobias but what about the fear of death? Death is inevitable and how we feel about it has probably been shaped by our beliefs in whether or not there is an afterlife. An average man cannot reconcile himself to death and therefore makes innumerable philosophies regarding the ideas of death. The prevalence of a belief in immortality, afterlife, reserving a place in heaven for good deeds and avoiding damnation are the tokens of awful fear of death. But if that makes us feel better, there are plenty of philosophers who act as the non conformists to the fears, labelling them as irrational. The fear of death can be intercepted to a reduction by the acknowledgment of our eventual nonexistence and the acceptance of death’s inevitability. Ceasing to exist mortality of course has a hard sentiment to all but if it makes us any better; many philosophers have believed and still believe that “Death is nothing to be afraid of!” Indian philosopher Jiddu krishnamurti commented that, “In order to meet death in such a way, all belief, all hope, all fear about it must come to an end, otherwise you are meeting this extraordinary thing with a conclusion, an image, with a premeditated anxiety, and therefore you are meeting it with time..... to discover that nothing is permanent is of tremendous importance for only then is the mind free, then you can look, and in that is great joy”. He was staunch believer backing the “Art of Impermanence” or “Nothing is permanent”. According to him, human fears associated with death are caused by our separation of life and death into two distinct states and by considering life and death as integrated aspects of our entire human experience we can overcome our fears. If we go further than this, we will encounter the ideas of the great Greek philosopher Epicurus who said ‘Death to be the cessation of sensation’. Sensation is a part of mortal experience which deduces the distinction of good and bad ostensibly but death eliminates sensation which means, it also eliminates good or bad distinction, therefore sending at a vague state. It is us who are convinced that things are only good or bad; if we feel bad it doesn’t rely to only physical feelings. Anyone who is having a broken heart will tell you that it is lot more painful and harder to heal than a broken bone. But a broken heart is still a sensation, it requires a body to command the pain and experience the wreck and so it is futile to fear the nonexistence of ourselves when we die. Not only is it hooey but taming the fear of death gets in the way of enjoying life to the fullest. The threats of these false alarms that did not materialize encourage the illusion of invulnerability to one’s psychological aspects of mental security and well being. For a normal being the nature and implication of death are esoteric to the person’s mind that it remains to be an unknown, undefined process. The person’s expectations and suppositions about the world are not adequate to explain this event. Having an unknown contradiction of death also isn’t a matter to miff, afterall once it arrives, we are gone! Whenever we think about it, we and death can never be present at the same time and when there is no us when death ushers, there is also not a plenty of time to think death as something malign or undeserving. So as we are equipped with perfect slices of reason to restore our eternal threats to death, we can see people still unable the associate the logic. They simply dread death because they will miss out things that they wanted to experience in their life. If we are dead right now, we will never be able to keep our promises we made to oneself or other or go to places we wanted to or even see human settlements on other planets. This is truly a tragedy for the most part for people out there but if we lament upon the things we are going to miss in future, there are also countless events we missed before we were born. I will envoy incidents based on our age here, we can say, we weren’t celebrating the grand fest of the world entering second millennium or listening to the live concert of ‘The Beatles’ or missed the Nation’s freedom struggle finally ended in the year 1947. It is here that demands question as, if we don’t feel some deep sort of loss at what we missed before we were alive then why should we feel loss about something we are going to miss after we die? But yes we can assert the point that if we believe that our life is essentially good then there is certainly something to grieve if it is cut short. Since human lifespan is estimated to 80 years on average, someone dying at 25 is a grave affliction as he is going to miss out his 55 possible years of good times. At this period we should adjourn here to see about what we truly value about life because that will also have an impact on what we think about death in general or about the death of a particular person. If we say that life is always inherently good then we place a higher stake on the moral premise of ‘Sanctity of life’. It doesn’t matter what the content of that life looks. The fact that being alive and breathing is good and losing it would not be good. But if we think the quality of life is what is more quintessential, then we are reflecting on the distinction between lives that are full of good experiences and lives that are full of miseries. If we value the quality of life, we don’t think that there is something inherently valuable about merely being alive. So in these terms, some deaths might actually escalate jubilation and be positive; like if they bring about an end to a terrible, painful existence. Now, ofcourse it can make sense and the fear of death can be normalised because the process of slowly dying can be extremely painful and drawn out and it involves a whole lot of difficult good-byes. To this point, we still stumble upon the gravels of fear encompassing death and it is our evolutionary instinct to protect ourselves from situation which threatens our lives. No matter how we envisage death with arguments or suppress it with illusions of denial. Deep to our cognitive state we all reckon death as the ultimatum of all bad happenings of existence. Keeping aside the death of oneself there is also an instantaneous reaction to the death of another person and what we fear isn’t the death itself but we are afraid to be left behind when a loved one dies. The answer here simply sounds a bit self-centric because we only cry about the condition of ourselves when another person dies and that the impact of not existing of them inadvertently affects us who are still alive. We will miss them every day and wished if they could be still here with us. This is the time when emotion takes over our rational acquaintances and we submit to this humanity’s deepest sorrows of losing someone we endeared the most. In this stream of understanding death we can turn to the classical Daoist thought to venerate death. The process of dying is located among the other operations of nature familiar in everyday lives. The sun rises in the east and sets in the distant western reaches and all of the myriad things take their bearings from it. We never know when we will die. Life and death are correlative categories which depend upon each other for explanation yet always unanswered. To my respect, I would place reliance on the Chinese Daoist philosopher Zhuangzi who stated that we do know that death is a part of our life cycle and it happens to everyone. If we don’t see any other part of the cycle as being abysmal, then why we see death as one. For him it is equally ludicrous to mourn for death to the mourn we never do when we lose a baby when he transforms to a toddler or from a child to a teen. He conceptualized death as transition of state of a person. We celebrate every other life milestones with birthday parties, anniversaries or graduations to mark the passage of time and the changes that have come. We may see our parents shed a tear when they pack us off to study further, away from them but they also knew that the day will arrive sooner or later. So death, according Zhuangzi is one more change that we shouldn’t treat indifferently. Instead we should celebrate the death of a loved one just as we celebrated every other life change they experienced. We should think of their death as a going away for a grand journey. In his point of view, mourning actually resonates a tune of selfishness. When it is time for the people we love to move on, the one last thing we should do is to pull them closer, he said. Life could not be what it is if it were not for the anticipation of death. To some, without the occurrence of death, life would be static and transparent. Death does not inhibit life but stimulates and drives it, making it more intense and poignant. On the other hand, Death is a setback we can never retrieve, perhaps we don’t think we are supposed to know what happens at death but we know the anticipation is the worst part of anything we perceive as scary. So fearing death is probably way worse than death itself. In the regards, the following statements are hereby placed not to be seldom emotional about the time we see someone’s life is on the brink of end. Critical judgement over this sporadically talked topic was given more preference of discussing life's another greatest force. With this discussions of death we must try to minimize pain in order to cultivate harmony when someone is gone. We should not only let grievance and loss be heavier than gratitude. By placing flowers over a tombstone doesn’t mark changes of how we loved them but be always steady and prepare that the journey will come to an end one day and until that day comes, we must let each other feel every smidgen of love when they are still alive.

Let’s assume there is an abstract entity of highest human endeavor. We call him simply “The Man”. He can be imagined to be a concept rather than a regular person with flesh and blood. He is benign, loaded with ambitions that are a common core to all of us. Unlike the human attributes, he is likely to bear some defaults too. This is because the absence of error makes him a quasi component and thereby cannot be considered to be the subtle counterpart to a normal being. So, as we imagined, in our cognition “The Man” is a perfect picture of an individual with the presence of all abundant wisdom that is needed to live without imparting the negative experience of life. But unfortunately, at some points he does. He tries to deviates it as far as possible but retires from his effort if the ambitions he pursues comes crashing down to him in the face of a colossal failure. What might be missing in his part regarding failure? Is that positivism Perhaps he endures that in a well groomed measure or we can say he is an ardent optimist. How about “sheer willpower” or “not giving” that is apt in reversing the definition of failure from ages? “The Man” as we aforementioned inherits the humanely quality and nature, which also brings into the quality of being ambitious. He thrives in all possible ways to reach to the summits of his ambitions like most of us do. Leaving behind the archetypal notions of not giving up, “The Man” is equally equipped to sustain the gritty reality like the mortals viz. the negative experiences and failure. If there’s one thing that we never stopped doing our entire lives is that we keep pushing ourselves to acquire the very best of everything. The strong believe that is domineering in our egoistic prestige is that “more” is always better than “less” and capitalism along with the media solidifies the idea to keep us wanting more, better and bigger things in order to reach happiness. In this case, the pursuit is based on materialistic achievement but if we juxtapose it with the Man’s ambitious zeal. It doesn’t draw much significant difference. The Man’s purpose for a top notch life is creating the reversal affect on how well he can escape what’s reverting back from his steadfast wants to deliver a better life. He might be the perfect epitome of mankind unless he is reluctant to accept the truth of the reversal of positive and negative experiences which comes along. This theory which identifies this paradox and which examines our faith reversing our expectations and ambitions is known as “The Backwards Law”. I have used the word ‘reverse’ because precisely, It is a concept which states that the desire for more positive experiences is itself a negative experience. And paradoxically the acceptance of one’s negative experience is itself a positive experience. At first it appears to be a wordplay nullifying sense but let us discuss how it is one of the precarious ladders in accepting our desires and happiness. “If we are to be fully human, fully alive and aware, it seems that we must willing to suffer for our pleasures. Without such willingness, there can be no growth in the intensity of consciousness…to strive for pleasure, to the exclusion of pain is in strive for the loss of consciousness.” A quote to the introduction of the “backwards law” by the 20th century philosopher Alan Watts. In layman’s term, we can approach to this principle that the more one tries to escape or remove the negative experiences of life, the more negative the negative becomes. In the same breathe, the more we face it willingly and intentionally, the more stronger and equipped we become. And ultimately, the more meaningful and positive the hardship becomes. A reciprocation of one’s experiences to a constructive one and which makes us more conscious is the purpose of this principle. The simplest example to replicate this idea is the example of gears in a bicycle. Like the gears, we are propelled in a synchronized manner of rotation. And in this rotation, the ceaseless relationship between the negative and positive experiences also follows up. In the harmonious rotation of the gears, wanting happiness and pleasure all the time; willing to hold onto one experience for a longer time and having more of it only serves to jam up the gears, hereby disturbing the harmony. There are forms of pain and suffering in life that completely overdrawn by our evolutionary ancestors and “The Man” is an exception to this. There are various areas of misery in this which it includes forms of depression, fear and overwhelm, illness and poverty that are too far to be compensated through mere acceptance, motivation or any other philosophical discourse to strengthen mental stamina. It certainly requires additional and supportive aid to these conditions of human life. However, beyond these areas of pain, there still exist a realm of suffering and unhappiness entrenched to our lives that appears to be inexorable and unshakeable, even through one’s circumstances are relatively better than other. This is the realm that draws ‘the man’ from a healthy and prosperous person to self hatred and self loathing. To even suicide and addiction. There is a mental pain that is not specific to any of us but applicable to all of us and so is to the conscience of ‘the man’. There is a struggle inside all of us that we carry along the way in all phases and conditions of life. It is a baseline of sensory and emotional experience that we all return to. And only because of the presence of this baseline, sometimes things will make us extremely happy and sometimes on the other hand extremely miserable. But as time passes by, in both cases, regardless of any effort or event, most of us will come back to the same feeling. If we realize that the bad provides the good and the good provides the bad simultaneously, we also realize that this contrast is the foundation that shapes life. That our baseline is not something we should try to dodge, run away from or fight against but something we should appreciate for its constant renewal of life. For ‘the man’ who is ambitious and depends his existence solely on his ability to accomplish away the struggles and miseries is unaware that it will inadvertently accomplish the whole world to be met with a disappointment so intense that it would destroy whatever is left in him. Perhaps then, our quality of life is not found in the heights of our happiness or pleasures but on how we choose to consider and look at what surrounds it. And how we attempt to create a life of meaning, decency and justifying the inevitable lows rather than always escaping them. In the end, the knowledge I tried to put forward is that if we worship happiness and pleasure, we will never feel good enough. Just like we don’t have to worship our breath to breathe, we don’t have to worship happiness or progress to actually progress and be happy. Like the inhale and exhale of oxygen in each breathe, the positive and negative flows in and out of us constantly keeping us moving, getting better and alive. And when we try to hold breathe and make an attempt to keep all the oxygen in, we suffocate. In every exhale there is a breath to come. So as long as we keep breathing, there are moments of hardships, pain and weakness. And in these moments, there is a beautiful story taking place filled with the potential of triumph, victory, strength and worthy of tears falling from our cheeks with the wonders of our life. So as long as there is life in us there is a rare and an exclusive human opportunity to take this chaotic existence and make it something. Perhaps, when ‘the man’ learns this ceaseless relationship of our faiths, he finally discovers a chance to connect, love and flourish. A chance to revise his beliefs and to be more accepting. A chance to feel the eternity of the cosmos and for him, at that point, that would be more than enough. At that point, we can conclude, ‘the man’ is happy and so are we.

Life is a time gifted to us by the divine and frankly a roller coaster ride we enjoy being alive, a journey that we all board from the very beginning of our birth. By the time we harness the power of rationality and proper understanding of our surrounding as a whole we begin to query into the philosophical discourse. As a lay observer of time and conditions we gain consciousness of our heart. Through our emotional development, we seek upon the abstract purpose or a goal of life that is, “happiness”. Our eternal satisfaction of life is the way we want it to be. Spending our entire life living for that purpose we strive towards it, we make memories, good and bad; we agree and disagree; we feel love and feel left out at times; we make and unmake success no matter how big or small and many. It contributes to all the small slices of our existence. The time we bear our physical embodiment in this earth is very limited. It all wraps up altogether at the end when we lay on our backs in the life support of a hospital bed, counting our last few moments and reminiscing about our life we lived. In the meanwhile, if we are lucky enough we are visited by our loved ones for the very last time. We hear them comforting us with the words. And after a while the tragedy strucks, we reach the very catatonic point of our journey that we boarded on. Likewise we were born into this magnificent universe years ago, at that point of end; we cease to no longer exist in this universe anymore. We embark into the nothingness, we die. For the sake of a much clearer inquiry, let’s assume it’s our funeral. We are dead. Our body is surrounded by our loved ones who came before to visit us in the hospital when we were alive. Some of them are talking about the things that say, how will we be remembered or did we had a good life? The first thing that we must take in account is that whether the value of our life is determined by the liver of that life or by other people. It puts a substantial interrogation that what actually constitutes a good life. What if our last minute thought was that we had a perfect life but when our loved ones sit around and discuss that our life was literally dreadful? Is this crude juxtaposition could be accepted? Could they be right and we be wrong about our own life? Or it can be the either way around that, everyone thinks that we had a beautiful contented life but we die miserably, feeling our life was nothing but a total waste. In this case, we are aware that our own outlook determines the extract of a worthy life but the thing most often asked is that what a good life looks like. The way we think we should live, the working towards our goal that we care, the tough choices we make, the way we spend our time and the satisfaction we gain from them are the things that shape the life we lead. According to the French philosopher Albert Camus, all humans are the literal personification of the Greek legend Sisyphus who was known for rolling up a boulder all up to mountain which was to be falling back down again and he had to do it over and over. This was condemned upon him as an eternal punishment and it was the brutal entirety of his existence. This tale of Sisyphus relating to all of us is perhaps sounds unhopeful and that life is meaningless but surely Camus had a different approach. He said that we must consider Sisyphus happy; I mean how is that possible and accepted to us? Sisyphus devoted his entire life to escape the grimes of death and yet the hard-own life he possesses now as Camus says accomplishes nothing. Camus, however uses the myth to showcase a symbol for all of mankind. He exemplified that every single day, month or year we witness our own venture seemingly repeat themselves as we are made to pursue them. We watch our own boulder roll down the hill again only to be pushed back up with the zeal to equip the changes that come along. This acknowledges the fact that life is absurd and that trying to find a meaning in the absurd is the goal. Nothing in this universe or nothing any of us does have any inherit meaning of its own, but it is always us and we who choose to give it meaning. For many the tale of Sisyphus is depressing because on one side it says nothing we do matters but on the other side of the spectrum it also says anything we do matters followed by how we choose to imbue it with value. Fathoming it as an existentialist viewpoint, it comes with a power pact message which reminds us that we and only we have the power to make our lives great. We are the only ones who can evaluate its greatness. A good life never exerts the saltiness of the advices that are given to us by the “Motivational speakers” that says to not to sleep and hustle until your dreams are pursued. They surely prepare us to leap toward our dreams but they forget that when we hustle, we are going “against” something. The true indistinctive nature is that we don’t go with the flow, we don’t feel the essence of life and the moments we live even if we know we have a limited number of them. We in this materialistic squalor are so deeply convinced that a good life is defined by the status quo and reputation that we forgot how to live. Material success is merely overrated; it only sterilizes a set of enigmatic rules that if not being obeyed we are leading the wrong way. What constitutes a good life is up always up to the individual. Its typical notions include that how well we did good deeds for others, how well we adhered to our ethics, how well we were productive and smeared our life with a meaningful purpose. The set of purposes we endorse in the long run actually proves what kind of success we define no matter how it be. Aristotle argued in his principles that “Man” is a rational being, so living a good life means striving for experiences and seeking to know. Know our world, know ourselves and endeavour to govern ourselves with reasons. It also means to live a life that is worthwhile; a life that makes a contribution instead of being solely egocentric. It is a life that is not wasted in mundane activities but on the other hand adds value and contributes to make this world a better place. Even more, it also contributes to our own growth and to understand the meaning of satisfaction from every small things we do. It can be reflected upon the people who simply asks why, who are willing to challenge something that doesn’t seem right, to listen to other people’s opinion and to be sincerely ready to accept new truths. It also means to never stop questioning and never stop making an effort for truth. To continue to live better, to know more, to learn and to revise our position of how we think based on new evidence. A good life is arbitrary in exact and can't be figured in any golden rule book to read and acquire its principles, it doesn’t conceptualize anything in particular but the main aspects; rather than be the examples of Sisyphus or existentialism, a good life can never have a clear meaning. Until, it has been introspected, lived by not having less worries and pain but by how we observed them, questioned them and learn from them to mould our life as we want and finally be the best version of ourselves to say in our last breathes that, “Yes, I had a good life.” “ You're only here for a short visit. Don't hurry, don't worry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way." _Walter Hagen.

Yesterday's two vague colours voyages down to the vibgyor, Cantilevered by lights that are too bright Fretted walkers are still peculiar, Urging hard to leap reverse to the soft side of man. Spring falls to the unlucky eyes, Crestfallen to those lives in black and white. The buzz in the busy streets, dreaded the loud screams of false victory. Happiness is now sold for the vaporwave, Partly concentrated on seclusion of negativity to be Proclaimed as new positivity. The fastcars rumbles, Smokes emit to cluster the freshness, Humdrums imposes more For some its fun and other its gore. It was not like before, We are afraid honestly, to the mornings that starts with a hot steam of caffeine And ends up with mead to sleep Holistic ideas of pioneers, which lamented Freud's ego, superego and id are receding from view. In the city full of neon, debts and drinks It pricks heaviness of a wandering beauty that is better offshore. Housing the celebrated and the wealthiest, The obscure and the anonymous And we are finding one in between. We caress the lopsided offerings, Of being the authors of tranquility Not disdaining in chaos that splinters the skulls with disco. Artificiality is a masterpiece; A tool of supererogation, Until it reverts back to us in grime. The only bragged expiation, the possible enlightenment is start seeing the light That was not too bright.

We recount tales in melody Suffused to matter that bears a force; A force that is named, a canticle, a hymn. Obliged to serve with a verse, Played as the universe expanded from a nutshell; The collision of the planets together and drifting apart again. This is the canticle, that was played when life began; Took a while, When Pisces fled to land as quadruped and in course, Ended up to a reasoning being That laid his hand on a bone and made a tool, Relearning what a colour was and what it meant to feel agony. This is the canticle, that rests on the love making between a man and a woman, passionately embracing each other under the leafy shade of an oak tree. This is the canticle, that was played when Moses split the Red sea for the Israelites in the Exodus, And Jesus being crucifixed on the cross of his faith; Apprising his father at the end that those people didn't knew any better. This is the canticle, Thta was played when Caesar's acquaintances stabbed him to death, Impacting a new history. And when Socrates told his protégés to man up Before drinking hemlock. This is the canticle, that was played when Beethoven, triumphantly composed till the ninth symphony Without a decibel being heard. When Kafka set the seal On to his magnum opus. And when Georgia O'Keeffe painted skulls; While Pollock delineate strokes of paint in a frenetic dance. This is the canticle, that was played when we wiped the remains of the great war; and in the truces between, Mankind forged warheads for hegemony. This is the canticle, that will be played when we cure cancer, When we subside pain; learning to be more compassionate And pacifying without leaving a gap of strife. This is the canticle, that will be played when the last human breathes his last, To the falling of last petal on the deserted ground of the last flower. And the last sunrise, Which will illuminate glow until it ruptures to its doom; thereby, rewritting Cosmos. Moreover its just a canticle, Which spring in all phase, encompass in strides And accompanies each lives like the tributary of both damage and temperament. Never eluding from us, It leisurely binds us to a commonplace of a kind. Its a song that we all hear once in a while. Its a song that is omnipresent. Its a song that propels in celebration to the misery And if we are keen to conscious, Nature abiding and calm; We shall hear it too. And it will, One day or the other, Reincarnate the songbird of a soul that lies beneath the tapestry of riches.

It takes time to form an awareness of the world. The world we live in is inevitably harsh and to our conscience that grave acceptance is not assured to us when we are child. Through the childhood we grow up with a sense of youthful optimism of our surroundings, life basically appears to be a whirl of cotton candy full of happiness and glee. Comprised of easy friendships, love at first sight and rightful intentions of all the people we see. We ought to think that the world for the most part is completely made for us; a world that has sold us fiction. Gradually as we grow in our age we realize it’s the complete opposite of what we thought of it was in the first place; the world reveals itself to be far more complicated and convoluted. We see life as a casket of all chaos and miseries. Now it seems the world we once pondered upon from the popular culture and TV shows is taking a bleaker route. It is more saddening then before, nothing goes on to our expectations anymore. We find ourselves lost in the tribe, we go through traumas, the moments we lose our closed ones earlier then we should, the moments our loved ones no longer feels the same for us and the moments we fail at the things we worked so hard for. Nothings goes right and we tend to loosen our tenacity to align through this path of life because of obvious disappointments. Slowly and slowly our youthful and credulous optimism is held into submission and is replaced with some degree of pessimism. Honestly, any examined life goes through this transition. At first this could sound rather sombre and disappointing but with rightful consideration we can understand that it is necessary. Optimism is great, it ensues us with a positive attitude towards life and no doubt it will help us to deal with the proportionate amount of adversities. But being relentlessly optimistic can leave us crushed when reality inevitably disappoints us. Optimism needs a value check that creates a healthy tension to balance things out. This is the turning point where we learn that an ample amount of pessimism is necessary in our life. Perhaps we learn that it should be acquired as a recipe of life and our existence. A healthy dose of pessimism is essential in our ability to adequately deal with this life. It on the other hand helps us to alleviate expectation and serves as an aid against life’s constant attempt to thrust our spirits out of us. In a practical sense, pessimism counter balances our absurd optimistic expectations of the culture we live in and help us adapt out of the deeply attached, unrealistic perceptions that we formed as a child. An unharmed pessimism constantly reminds us that things will not always be the way we want or always be kind, but rather they will go wrong, even unimaginably wrong but despite that we can still be okay. We must recognize that through a certain quality of pessimism we can extract a more reasonable optimism of life. We live through a grim truth; we are all improvising our way through of existence, constantly confused and unclear. No matter how big or small we all make mistakes; we don’t know how or why and that makes none of us perfect or normal in the traditional sense or so. This is a world where happiness is often hard; there is greed, tragic and malevolence around us and we will continue to have no matter what we do. If we be more radical, at any moment, this whole world and all of humanity could end for a number of reasons that we can say an apocalypse or where an asteroid hits earth that could eradicate the whole human race. Perhaps, for now it’s still an Armageddon dream but everything just said prior to it, the thought of it all coming it an end makes us feel sad and fearful. We don’t want it to end. Of all uncertainties, chaos and hardships of life we want to move on. We want to endure and constantly test our potentials to our maximum limits. In this way we find the hopeful spirit and strength of humankind. In true words, we learn to find optimism through pessimism. If we peruse through the contexts of all philosophers and religious texts, we see the all school of thoughts make us aware of the pains that comes through an examined life. There is courage in facing the realities of pessimism and strength to be formed in it. We must be pessimistic about life’s condition in order to face their realities and we should also be optimistic about our abilities to face that realities and harness strength, hope and experience from it. Pessimism is real. It is natural and helpful but it is not all. Like evil is to goodness, pebbles is to a magnificent flower , darkness is to light and silence is to song. In the same way we can say pessimism is to optimism. We can’t find any real optimism without first admitting the real pessimisms of life. In the dirt of life, it is up us to plant the seeds watch the flowers grow and enjoy the beauty in the spite of the fact that in few months, we know they will die. “But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own. Not of the same blood or birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. And so none of them can hurt me.” _ Marcus Aurelius.

The door knocked at an odd hour. Lucas’s parents worked in the same office which falls to the eastern side of the province; hence they reached home by late evenings. He was alone but he had tones of experiences of unwanted hawkers and newcomers of town who stops by to ask directions just in case their Google maps don’t work. Lucas was upstairs at that time, so by hearing the knock he came down sliding his butt on the smooth staircase bars. He wondered how weird it was that someone decided to sell their insurance plans at 4 o’ clock and how weirder it was that he choosed to knock whereas there was a fancy doorbell at his right. Lucas sneaked through the curtain sideways, to his notice he saw a stud figure, standing stone cold and was seem to be of his same age. He then opened the door and asked if he needed any help. Firstly he said his name was Luke. “Wow cool!”, Lucas replied. “How can I help you?”, he asked again shrugging his shoulder as if he want to purge away Luke's existence and continue what he was doing upstairs. He started sobbing. Lucas was shocked at this unexpected reaction and asked him, “Hey bud! Are you okay? Why are you crying? Is there anything I can do for you?”, he asked in a placid manner to make him feel ease. After Lucas put his hands right above his shoulder blades as a gesture of friendliness, his eyes glowed as he looked back at him. It felt like he knew him from before, and the eyes filled with water tells Lucas that he was something familiar about but couldn’t fathom out at that particular moment that what it was. Luke seemed to be docile and after that short interaction with a stranger such as Lucas, he hugged him. Lucas was surprised! He asked again, “Hey Luke! You look like you are in trouble. What’s wrong pal?” Luke gently stood back and asked sorry for his cringe behavior. Lucas reassured that it was completely fine. Suddenly, Lucas noticed an amulet hanging down his shirt and thought he had seen one like before. Before he could say anything, Luke left without saying a word. Lucas was standing dumbstruck near the door trying to picture out about the whole thing that happened a few minutes ago. He came back to what he was doing, and gradually decided not to tell his parents anything about it. Lucas didn’t wanted this to be an issue of discussion with his parents, as he knew this sounds so erratic. But he was curious about that amulet he saw with the outfit of Luke. It was days passed, but he was still unable to figure out from his memory about that amulet. After some months, the incident no longer lingered in his mind. Lucas was now attending his classes and holding on to a tight schedule after his cozy vacations. Lucas’s parents were NRI and he had trouble making friends here except some of his close compeers. Rajveer was the wittiest of all, so they used to hang out most of the time together. They were like the two extra straws of the same cocktail, except better. Once, Lucas was out to the nearby store on his BMX to purchase stationeries until he met Rajveer heading to the same destination. It was an uncanny fate of their friendship that like when Lucas goes out, he meets Rajveer most of the time. This time was lucky too as he had a companion to converse on their way back home. As they were crossing through many stores, Lucas saw what caught his attention altogether. It was the exact same amulet hanging at display at an Archie’s gift shop. Rajveer interrupted his attention saying, “Dude that’s the amulet of Anubis, a franchise of Doctor Fate that we were a fan of in our childhoods. It is rare now! I am sure that’s an exclusive piece what say?” “It was the same amulet I saw in Luke’s chest!”, Lucas thought to himself. Rajveer gave Lucas a shake which disrupted the sync. “Flashbacks right? It was the exact same one you use to wear and flex in your tiny tot days! I remember that quite well”, he added. It was like that flashback scene created an epiphany in Lucas’s mind. He said to Rajveer that , “Bro I remember I had some leftover stuffs back at home, gotta reach before it’s too late! See ya!” and left leaving a sign of awkward interrogative remark on Rajveer’s face. When he reached home, he rushed towards his room in a hope that amulet is still present somewhere. He scorched in the drawers, went through the cupboards and every possible corners in his room. He dragged down a trunk in which he kept his old toys well preserved but still failed. After a while of the house inspection for the amulet quest still ongoing the door knocks! Lucas went through the hallway to the door and opens it. To his surprise it was Luke! He had a small wooden chest in his hand and said pleasantly, “Are you searching your amulet brother? Well, here it is, you probably have forgotten that you buried it in this box when you were a child. I exhumed it for you! Here it is. You loved it so much that you decided to treasure it.” After that he pointed his finger upon the site where pebbles were crumbled as if someone dug it with a shovel. Lucas was flabbergasted. Before he could start interrogating him, Lucas’s mom shouted from the kitchen, “Who is it Lucas?”. He pretended to not cause havoc and replied, “It’s my classmate Prateek mom!”. He shouted back again saying, “I am going for a walk with him. Will be soon before the lunch!”, banged the door and left. Walking past his home he was unable to decide which question should be asked first. “How did he know about the amulet of my childhood?How come he had the same one? Why does he look strikingly identical like me? Like a doppelganger?Why is he calling me his brother?”, these questions staggered rapidly onto Lucas and a lot more. Before he could succeed asking him one, Luke said, “I know what are your thoughts brother…. I know all of those questions huddling over and over.” He paused for a while. Lucas grasped back his breathe and inquired, “Who are you? And what is exactly going on?” Luke peddled a few steps away and said, “I am your younger brother Lucas.” “From whose side exactly?”, Lucas questions. “I am your own brother Lucas.. that lady you shouted back is my mother too. It was so nice to get to hear her voice again”, he smiled. “Woah! Hold one! Is this suppose to be prank? If it is then I must say you have choosen the wrong person pal!” Lucas said in utter vexation. “I am your brother who was never brought into this earth.. you never had me in this dimension but I had you in mine!” Luke answered. For Lucas that sentence flew off above his cognition. He said, “ Pardon? What earth dimension shits you are talking about?”. Lucas was losing his temper now. “I came from the other parallel dimension Lucas. In my world, I was born as your younger brother Luke. My world was technologically superior than yours and our scientists had developed the reality breaking loop two decades ago”, Luke said. TV shows and YouTube channels taught Lucas a lot about the concept of time travelling and mirror worlds. Though he was skeptical he didn’t refrained him from explaining and asked, “So why are you here? What do you need?” Luke said, “In my world you loved me very much Lucas. Like really very much, but umm.. you were too good then me. Academically better, the most hotshot one, mom dad loved you more than me and they were always rebuking me to be like you. I was an outcaste in my own family, ran overed like an old carpet, nobody appreciated me but on the other hand they did to you and I cried a lot. None understood me but yes you did Lucas, I won’t lie… you made me understood that if no one then you will be there for me. But I was still unhappy with you because if you were not there, I guess I would have lived more happily. So in the mist of that chaos and to fulfill my thirst for avenge. I had to kill you. I was sad for that but I was happier. Mom intervened the scene when I stabbed you so I had to kill her too….” This created a panic in Lucas and he asked, “But...but you were never born here then how???”. “Wait!”, Luke said. “Do you remember the day mom and dad went to hospital and you were kept in the hands of a baby sitter? After they came back you constantly asked why they went in the first place?” “I remember yes! Mom had something related to appendix or so. It was a critical word to pronounce for me back then. Yes I do remember!”, Lucas said. Luke breaks into a hysterical laughter and continues, “ No you dumdum! I was in her womb but for the matter of miscarriage I died inside her. They didn’t tell you about this as you were too young. You were lucky brother.” Now the words seem like intimidating Lucas with terror and he asked with chills running down his spine, “Why are you here then?What do you want from me?” Luke said with a smile, “Though I envied you to your death. I still miss your company sometimes, the things you taught me and the encouragements you once gave me. I miss all of them. Thank you so much brother. So I thought revisiting you breaking a reality in the cost. Remember the amulet dad gifted both of us in the time of New Year. You were so fond of preserving things that you treasured it beneath the ground to look back at it as a fragment of precious memory when you grow old. Such cute! But on the other hand I wore it in any places I go because that was one of few things I had to showoff to others that it was gifted by my father or my family.” “Don’t worry! I won’t kill you here. It’s a farrago feeling that I miss you but still have a desire to have killed you more bitterly then by just merely piercing your abdomen deeper with a kitchen knife! But you will see more of such here brother….”, Luke continued. Lucas though partially understanding the scenario he was terrorized with the sadistic talks of Luke and tried to run away uttering, “You are insane!!". Luke holds his hands impeding his escape and blindfolds his eyes with his hands, overpowering him and says ,“Are you not ready to see them brother? ARE YOU NOT??” Lucas was struggling to let go off himself from his grip but he couldn’t. He struggled hard until his vision is blurred with psychedelic images and when he opened his eyes he saw his room. He stood up with a sweaty pillow under his head realizing that it was only a dream or perhaps a nightmare! It was still 4 o’ clock, his parents were out and someone is down there knocking at the door. Lucas was really sweating his pants to go down. He took a cricket bat with him as a defensive tool and went through the hallway. After the continuous knocks at the door, he opens the door and it was just a guy trying to sell an insurance policy! Lucas sighed in relief and said annoyingly to the guy, “Couldn’t you see the doorbell on your right??” “My apologies sir! I didn’t see… are you interested in??”, before he could add any details, Lucas shuts the door with a bang asking him to leave. He then went upstairs to the bathroom to wash his face. After the did so, he thought to himself that what an absurd and frightening dream it was! He wondered maybe he should stop binging sci-fi horrors at night! It has been putting tremendous side effects at his sleeping cycles. Later that day, Lucas was sitting looking away to his garden from his window. He suddenly remembers the amulet thing and quickly manages to draw a shovel from the backyard storeroom in a quest to see if the wooden chest still resides inside the earth. He digs at the exact same spot he saw in the dream. After some digging off, the shovel hits a hard object and it was the chest!He was surprised to see it was still there. He opens it quickly and was happy to see his childhood memory. But astonishingly there was also a piece of paper stucked in the amulet. Lucas unfolds it and it reads, ‘With lots of love, Luke!’

While finishing up the household chores on a lazy Sunday, my eyes grasped the attention of a dusty cupboard near the study table. It remains unnoticed most of the times, so I thought of opening it up and give my hands on it. Of course the spider webs were welcoming at the first glance. I wore a mask and started my personal expedition. Old books of father, his clothes and lots of fresh unused utensils huddled up. I gave it a dust free wave and rubs of my rag and noticed an album at a dark corner. I took it out and opened the first few pages to see some of the moments of my childhood which were cherishing. After a while of digging into it, I was called for other unfinished chores at my room. I had a habit of taking things too deeply, for some it could be nothing but for some it really means. I was a part of the second tribe, cognitively challenging to some people. As a result, the impression of those photographs made my perspective more overwhelming. Remembering that small instance down the cupboard, I thought to myself that nothing can quite fit in to the hollow spaces that a photograph occupies. Unlike any other digital medium or sighted experience a photograph reaches out and grabs one singular moment in time and space and holds it for us to look at. Taken within a sequence of infinite moments, once a photo is clicked, it gives out the perpetual moment of time, hereby standing completely for itself; one singular frame. When I went through that photos which was a part of that album buried somewhere inside the cupboard, I see a photo of myself or a moment that I was a part of. I reflect on it and try to recall what it was like to be in that moment. I feel a certain form of nostalgia that is almost tangible. I miss it and want to go back to the moment that the photograph was captured but perhaps when I experience this, it is not exactly the moment in photograph I long to go back but the moment in general. Perhaps I was longing for what the photo reminds me of right now, what it taunts me about the freshness of memories to which was somewhere a part of me. That photos showed me what it was like to exist in one frame of time and to be completely present and be able to witness all the bijou details in a given scene of my life. To be detached enough from oneself and the constant happenings around me, to see how things might actually be and how things could actually be. With such reverie in my mind, I asked some questions to myself that what could it be right now if this present moment be a photograph What would it look like or be? Would I look back at it sometime at the future and miss it and wish I was back here? With such absurd questions spinning back and forth in my mind, I held myself back to the pages of the album. With every old photographs turned by I wish to tell myself to look around and take in all the details of this present moment and marvel at the scene to which I am a part of; allowing it to stand for itself because with or without a photograph, every moments has its own singular frame to be remembered and we don’t always need a photograph to feel what it makes me feel. Finishing off gazing each memory, I closed the album and kept it where it belonged. Partly at the now cleaned cupboard but wholly in my heart.

With a purpose to resonate a euphoric tune, the slingy chime was held head high. Bars of metals clumsily clanged; Rippling off a haunting and a halcyon spirit it dignify. It stayed aloof for ages, uncompromisingly still. Winds try to rob its silence, a melody happens and I feel. It remains unnoticed, devoid of attentions, and dutifully hangs to happiness. Deprived of the visages it dissolves them; I see all the moments of it welcoming The faces of hugs To the seasons of misfortune, It welcomed them all. The aurora it disposes, never goes to no vain. Promising a smile And suppressing few pain. Chiming all the way It marks something behind the tune; Hovering feats above, It tells a tale, Tales that are never heard But tales that are worth listening. Frames fairy tales that are a lost in the capsules of time; I drew a tingle to remember, the misprized worth of a chime.

Lights, camera and action! A traditional cue to cinema. Many have added their magic upon them and left a mark on motion picture history. Many will come and go, but the loss of a priceless Khan can never be filled. Often hailed one of the best actors in the world of cinema, Irfan khan’s sheer talent had the potential to turn dust into stardust. We could possibly relate to all the conventional roles he acted from Maqbool to Hindi medium. He was one of the few artists who could deliver philosophies through a soothing smile in his face and tossing away all typical ideologies and stereotypes of a romantic hero, hereby redefining love stories. The actor who didn’t only entertained us but leaped out from the screen, leaving an impact of wisdom in our heart with his poignant dialogues. The only Khan whose aura will stay longer till ages, the one who proved that talent never flows through heredity. He didn’t only won hearts with his purpose of acting, but acted as a textbook of immense sagacity that we all must inherit, letting us explore from the kaleidoscope of life and its beauty. That’s why there a reason of personal sorrow that feels deep within us and demise of this luminary khan has been beyond the loss of a celebrity. You will always be missed Sir! And as the story telling of this irreplaceable khan is over, it has ended in such a beautiful way that people had given a huge round of applause but with tears in their eyes.

It was Tuesday, the alarm beeped to the distraction between dreams and reality but astonishingly she was all up that day. Maya knew it was the day before 'a once in a year' moment. Her birthday! Sacré bleu! A grand celebration with cakes and people she pondered. It was a predictable predicament for her, nothing idyllic or excited about at all. She could foretell the upcoming day pretty easily; hibernated old friends showing up with encouraging text and wishes, sparkling GIFs , a lot of embarrassing photos along with screenshots were certain to be featured in Instagram stories and unknown faces huddling up in her Facebook timeline. It was an obvious sport for her! Something which was done to restore a dignity to social command. Stay with me readers! I know she is eccentric and an ungrateful brat, but hold on! Bear with me. Ofcourse, she is a nonreactive bourbon person. But what made her such way? This goes to a time, when her psych was the polar opposite to what is currently now. A little before we were introduced to this seemingly erratic teenager, there hides a persona we can all relate to atleast once in a lifetime. Maya was a budding teenager in her early 20's, a millennial to sound exact, an 'easy going' person with a notable positive charisma. She was having a hard time after her parent's divorce, which let her positive outlook of life deteriorate. She shared an emotional connection only with her dad but she couldn't meet him so frequent until once in a month when he comes to render alimony. Everytime they met, she was bloomed with happiness, even it was ephemeral. Her dad would gift her his thoughts which were inspiring and many of them comprised with parental advices like “study hard!", “listen to your mother and do what she says!", “you can make through this, I know you can!" and lot more. A brief talk with him can ignite her will for many days and it can be figured out that it will be refueled by her beloved father again when they meet next time. Days passed by and the routine followed nonchalantly, until one day a call at midnight strucked her to the core. It was reported that her dad had a seizure and while collapsing from the inglenook, his head hit on the wooden edge of the armchair giving him a haemorrhage, causing instant death. Maya was distraught, her world came crashing down around her and she was seem losing all her will at once. The only person with whom she shared her feelings was his father and after he was gone, it left a deep groove in her heart. Her mother was snobbish and her husband's death wasn't something at all that could trigger her to be a more responsible and affectionate guardian for her daughter. There has been always a little talk between them, except for needs they both were like strangers living under the same roof for shelter. The enforced camaraderie of her was small and the fact the more she entered into later adolescence, the more she started feeling distanced from them. It was then she realized in an age where information overload has caused the traditional values to be lost and replaced with a discontent of humanity. She was unable to find a silver lining in the reference that no one came or even supported her in the times she needed them the most, she was the one who fillled her old wine anew to the glass with a sense of stronger mental fortitude to sustain but in a cost of losing trust over humanity. For her the world is now inexorably doomed by humanity’s intentional ignorance, futility and greed and as a result she sees no obvious reason in engaging to the traditional pursuits and thus retreats from the society into an apathetic isolation. Maya was born in an era where technology predominantly developed at a rapid rate in an exceptionally small amount of time. The advent of the internet and information has completely changed the way people could experience and comprehend the world. Due to such, Maya was transformed in a so called “Doomer” from the popular meme culture. A personification of someone who feels a sense of loneliness and alienated from friends and family and is consequently stricken with a deep despair of life through keeps breathing and moves towards their goals but aimlessly. She felt that the attitude of keeping in touch with people, being dependent for them in adversities was outdated. Back to her birthday, everything was going with her predicted expectations ; greetings from her friends who only remembers her existence on special occassions , her mother being nice to her just for the blissful sake of her birthday, the photos that will be sticked to others social media stories for twenty four hours and so on but then? It was all back to normal, a daily bleak life where no one seemed to have added a little meaning to her existence and this wasn’t even a matter to be sad to her anymore. From them she grudged in a pessimistic outlook to life rather then accepting that there still good person who values humanity. Maya is someone who gloss over to most of the individuals in this generation, harder to get something off one’s chest but undeniable. From the above brief encounter of Maya there is a truth that needs to be heard, perhaps she as a “doomer” feels a heightened alienation from the world because the lost human connection and internet compounds the weight of social pressure and a legitimate sense of detachment. However, this experience of alienation and grief is not unnatural nor without value, rather than feeling constantly despair we must learn to walk deliberately through the hurdles of life. To realize that there will be pain and challenges and instead of turning away from them we must lean into them and face them, developing themselves and add personal meaning no matter how hard it may be. The internet may be of mainstream sophistication to connect the distant ones, but on the other hand like every universal element , it also has its own fundamental pros and cons. It has led our generation fall back on the small sized screens to lost the actual connection between two human beings. When this traditional value loses its identity from our intrinsic sentiments, a “doomer” is born and so in account to add that we must restore the faith in human connections. Because To understand, to pay an mindful listening, inspiring someone and say “they can do it” will not get you famous on internet but It will give someone a hope to rise above to their potentials. Because these are few things that are never outdated in our civilization no matter how far we exceed in technology advancement.

I tend to go into light slumber and I see myself as a catatonic castaway questioning my existence. Trying to find solace among the adversities of a challenging college life and my family issues that had, almost hit the skids. During the day, I often conjecture about the regular news channel dad binges his eyes upon and the effluvia of richly flavoured vermicelli coming from kitchen and myself limbering up before setting up the table. I hear dad passing critical judgement on the suited gentlemen on TV which I certainly don't pay much attention to rather I try to paint down a picturesque artistic expressions on paper recollecting my thoughts on cubism or even surreal art. Since a child, my not so golden childhood made me reticent, partly silent and less reactive towards situation, to which I am highly thankful for coping up with the pandemic scenario filled with uncertainty. Most of the time, I barely dream about the days to come , envisaging opportunities in chaos and considering myself bit of an empath , praying for the ones who are suffering. Atleast its the least effort I can do sitting at home.

We often wake up to our own repression. The ways we have been silenced for long. To all the many tales we unfailingly carry about an self enquiry that why our words are less valued than those who benefits most from the old ones. We wake up the penultimate truth that our vantage of ourselves wasn't only constructed by us but it was devised in a purpose. The purpose to keep us small and wordless. We wake up to our own anger, To the fierce obdurate to not to obey, Not to pay a heed ear to the tales, nor to settle with being small. But then, one day.. After we have learned to speak, We wake up to the fact that our frustration taught us to adapt rather than to rise above all pauses. We shape-shift to be more like them, To work in their hallway of power To survive in a world that didn't wanted our voice to be heard. Then our anger comes again, And we have a new determination. This time, we speak with our true voice Not concerned to it is heard or not by others. We begin to live in the centre of our purpose Whether or not it is acceptable to them. We imperil our dismissal and disain As we no longer want to go back to sleep. We begin to wake up to other people's narrative Their silences and repression, We begin to see that those skins are Different from us! Whose meaning of love is Different from us! And their waking up is asking us to be uncomfortable. Asking us to look more unblinkingly at our own life. Then we begin to wake up to our own privilege, To the ways that we have benifitted from their repressions. We begin to wake up to the pain in them, And hear the cries of the silenced which screams, "We want to be heard too!" This waking up could be the hardest, We want to ignore it, To resist it, and to fanatically subdue to the truths it holds. We want to return, To our own uprising, To our own narrative, To our own voice, As in that we feel more liberated and victorious. We witness glory in our own eyes. In that, we dont have to face the truth that maybe Maybe.. We are holding onto the keys of someone else's chain. And so it is our time to wake up... To face the hard truths and to feel what hurts, When our aggressions and fragility are inflamed. We do the hard work to peer with unwavering eyes on ourselves. And to glimpse both light and darkness and the space between them. When we are awake, We begin to see it all and everything. It is a moment when we are aware of our place in the world, which is no longer endangered to stand by those who are also trying to wake up. Our anger rages anew, Our fierce determination rises up once again. And this time our love is big enough, Our compassion is big enough, To hold their afflictions along with our own. This time, our voice is stronger enough, Bolder enough, to speak their truths along with our own. This time, our courage is spirited enough, To let them speak the truth that is Different from us! We are empathetic enough, to understand the spectrum of each person, Each emotion, Each calls and conditions, and to learn accept it more gracefully in our hearts. Along with the embracing of the differences that binds us altogether at the end.