I am empty. From within and beyond. To search what helps me sustain is now a task. I smile, always. My heart, not so often. I don’t know what pains it. There is so much going at once. Moments of laughter do disrupt my cry, once which was loud now seems oblivious to everyone around. I try to sit down with pen and paper and write. All those stories that need telling and all those poems that need listening. And then I ask them, plead them to listen it more closely. And then I tell them that this is what I have become, help me before it kills me slowly. But like the night that has closed upon its door on the sun, like that very night when the sun refused to lend a hand to the moon, like that very night where robbers did not value life more than money, like these very nights there is no one to hear my story. I refuse to bury the time gone by, I refuse to bury my heart and I refuse to cry. I smile and I smile and I smile. Even when things aren’t as good as they seem, even when people refuse to see me through my eyes, specially then, I smile. To hide behind a smile is the most pleasant gift to the society, and maybe someday it won’t ever need a hiding. Maybe someday when I will smile, it will be because I meant it. Maybe someday when I will try to hide, right people will know exactly the right thing to tell me. Maybe someday, when all is not over and there is still energy left in me to do it all again, I will smile like no one else has ever seen and I will smile like no one else will ever know.
I am empty. From across and above. To believe that there is some hope is all that I have. And sometimes when the fading sun snatches away this too, there is no sorrow or remorse, it is so dark that what it is even I do not know. To wait and see if it is not the end is a herculean task. The patience to carry on sometimes is lost. I move back to memories and things my loved ones said. I move back to words that still held the power to sway. I move back to everything that could not ever prove me wrong. I move back so much that still I would have never moved at all. And there the night passes under the starless sky. The more I think what hope I have, more hopeless I become. The more I think what it is to be hopeless, my strength does return. To live a life of sorrow is still better than one without hope. For hope is mischievous, it plays exactly where it needs to and hides in plain sight. Without it there can be no motive, no reason to sustain. Without it we are the dead breathing to death all our way. And one day at the end of all, when I shall see the light return. And one day at the end of all, I shall redeem myself at last. Then no words, no songs, no melody will have the power to tell, of the night that passed by and all alone, all that I had was some conversations, memories and my hope that refused to go away.