The melancholic strands of time are stretching in front of me; laying on the embrace of demons nobody is my hope; the lord it seemed has let loose this world to its own whims and fancies. I lay in the bottom pit; without hope, in despair, with lowest of thoughts and needs; in no way to gratify the dying artist in me; in no way to appease my thirst for something aesthetic, in no way to uplift myself; challenged and crippled by forces far reckoning; I feel alienated to this world, to its customs and traditions and somehow I feel helpless; how can so many turn blind, not even a voice.
Somehow the world was in a war; I had no part in it and yet I wanted to get out; but nobody understands, nobody listens; the world was of careless and senseless dogs, barking and fighting for the biggest chunk of meat and I was the newest addition to the menu; a global phenomenon; everybody conspired in pockets, I was in use but belonged nowhere, maybe I needed an address of my own and I didn’t had the slightest idea how to. My eyes were not opened to see the beauty the world beholden; I was shocked to see the reality, it was just filth everywhere or it might been was in the case of India, this country in its cities has become a big junkyard, the authorities didn’t cared a dime, the new world was just a havoc of rash irresponsibility’s burdened to gratify the senses. Last night I wore a blanket of flies; people want demons so they can ruthlessly suck the life out of them to hide the demons they themselves have become. Do you see the paradox here people or are you blind? This system you have designed nourishes the ego of the most unimportant of souls. I have found only my immediate family helpful in times of adversities and yet I am of no use to them yet they bear me, my idiocies my blunders and my excuses which I feel are baseless and useless in this world. I still don’t understand what makes this world happy? I somehow feel it my responsibility to make it happy, yet I am short of resources, short of responsibilities. Somehow I believe deep down that I can open new windows to people through art yet my expressions are useless; I can’t feed on air and I need someone to work on me and it has become my priority. I see no doors opening before me, my ears have heard enough rejections, but I just can’t wear that hat of being called a bad artist; a bad puppet or maybe a bad puppeteer.
I feel devastated, my privacy gone, microchips embedded into my daily life to juice out extracts of a life so miniscule; I never liked bullies; never ever; the state was bullying on me, men are supposed to live on land they can’t live in air or water for rest of their lives. If you are not helping someone who is victimised spare the preaching too; if the meaning of life is seeking wisdom and living it, I have seeked it and founded it to my belief, the world is the sakshi and as far living it matters you tell me where? This world is now not of seekers of truth or wisdom; it has sink into depths so unfathomable atleast have the shame to complain if not to the authorities then to your god but no, you won’t until you get your share in this world; and let it function in any way it has to you people of godly knowledge knew the things that are happening is not right and what did you do?
Shun the Gladiator.
