Been a couple of months,
I hadn’t really picked my pen,
Listening to its voice had gone out of question,
Trying to pave my path,
Through a cloudy mind,
I can at least try,
My brain reminds,
Consciously, I don’t really know what to write,
Perhaps it’s the chaos that can ironically be my guiding light.
It’s been long,
That I’ve been living in oblivion,
Not only to the outside world,
But also towards my own,
Sentiments, feelings, emotions, and expectations.
Not that I’m incognizant of their existence,
However, I fear encounter,
I doubt my resilience,
As it’s easy to win the battles outside,
Than to calm the tempest inside.
Honestly, it is a disconcerting thought,
The mind – a denizen of my own body,
Needs to be fought,
The heart whose purpose is to pump blood,
Needs me to get out of a questions’ flood.
Being a host, I ask myself,
Does this turbulence hold any relevance?
Yet all this affects me,
As I can’t knowingly ghost out,
On a part of my own existence.
If I come to think of it,
I am always surrounded,
By gazillion thoughts, emotions, and questions,
Yet I never shy away from branding myself as lonely,
Why? Because I can’t cherish my own homies company?
Within the next few seconds,
I firmly take my stance,
“Answer your own questions,
Quench your own thirst,
Because you, darling, are your own first!”