ME AGAINST MYSELF

Why are we so alone? This is the question I ask myself frequently.

But we aren't!!!!!!!!what with all those people around us -our family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances and even strangers- in fact we are surrounded by a sea of humanity.

Yes we are! the sea of humanity is nowhere to be seen if you look carefully enough. The decisions we make are our own, the upheavals our mind goes through day in and day out are felt by none but ourselves, only our heart bears the testimony to the blows it is subjected to, in none of our endeavours the sea of humanity makes it presence felt.

C'mon man! don't we celebrate with our family and friends with utter joy and undying fervour, are they not around to relieve us of our sorrows, and aren't they the same people we look for advice when in moments of contemplation. These gems are the reasons our lives sparkle so bright , they make this stupid world worth living in (this last line is lifted and adapted).

Where does the sparkle vanish when the shadows emerge? When the destiny plays its sinister plan and throws us into a blackhole of never-ending struggle, the only people who emerge are the naysayers proclaiming sarcastically "didn't-i-say-so".The trust is lost, the confidence is lost, the spirit is lost; what is not lost is life- life,whose weight we must drag along on our solitary shoulders through the rocky terrain before us.

The struggle gives meaning to life. The struggle which tires us, saps us out of our breaths, ready to crush us into a million small shards of nothingness also polishes us, works like a sculptor with his chisel shaping us up in perfect symmetry to bring up a masterpiece. And after all that sweat drenched time when we come back home to witness the pride glowing on our father's face, the pent-up unconditional love of our mother being showered on us in enormity, the mischievious curl of our brothers' lips saying more than any words can and the open arms of our friends beckoning us with all the gusto- then what we experience is pure elation, an elation which lifts us off the ground and leaves us light as a feather.

But when the sculptor deals us a brutal blow and what is left is broken pieces of what could have been a masterpiece but now is a pile of uncomprehensible shapes. When this happens then we come back home to not pride, not smiles, not gusto, no not any of the above but only dissapointment and sighs, drooping lips and drooping shoulders. We can feel the sharp gaze of the world boring through our body, making us scream which they are silent to because they only heed success. The brutal world does not recognise philosphy, this cruel monster calls a failure "Failure" and not "A-stepping-stone-to-success", and it distances itself as far as it can from us.

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THE ARGUEMENT SEEMS TO HAVE NO END. I REQUEST MY FRIENDS TO PUT FORWARD A FITTING CONCLUSION TO IT - IT MAY BE EITHER WAY.

BESIDES THIS YOUR VIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME, IN FORM OF COMMENTS, ON THE PIECE ITSELF.