I am 19 years old, and I am lost.
I am lost for a purpose, I am aware about the aim, but, nonetheless, I am lost.
31h October, 2017.
Sagar Arora is a peaceful human being. Nothing in the world would ignite the anger inside him, for maybe there is none. As a child, he would vent out, but it had been years, since his own parents know what is going on in that head. But why should people wonder, he is always smiling? And well, they are people?
So words, words meant more to him. He was getting aid from is words. His love, his love was another extradition to peace. Peace, Peace? What was so disturbing about life, when everything was intact?
Nothing that shall concern him right now. He has everything, a loving family, decent financial status, words, a girl? Well, his smile was fake to himself, sometimes.
But, then, the universe has its way to envelop the darkness and unleash the bright sun onto the human eye which can barely take the strain. The girl left. Three years? Differences? Alright. This is not an issue, Sagar has bigger things to aim, rather his pain would rest poetry in the veins. Those few days, he would vent out verse with carbon dioxide, for, his teacher would say, “poetry is best with pain”.
With the flow of faith, words had slowed down over the drip of his mind and he would start to understand that he is sick.
He will try out to be exposed to the people. Started going out with another female again, hoping if not himself, someone will get to know about the sickness. No, of course.
A few good metaphors to fall in love.
A few practical allegories to escape out?
He would call himself a hopeless romantic and that is how everything explained itself. A hopeless, romantic. Post the poetry stalled upon for a while, he was asked to live a few days with determined humans, hopeful humans with hatred compelled into their nationalistic room of existence.
He would physically engage in exertion and forget hope, he would forget pain, would forget poetry.
Not long, till he visits back to his native town to listen to this parents talking trash to each other. Not enough?
Well, that night, Sagar Arora stood up and punched the wall for 5 times, until the hand go numb and the pain surface out in screams. Yes, everyone was around, no one knew what happened. Even you don’t know, right?
He cried for an hour, his heart started giving up each time, someone would try touching his head.
Sagar Arora is a peaceful human being in pain that he unknowingly addresses while writing poems. His parents never get along, there was hatred in his upbringing, love culminating over the head, but fear and hatred infecting the young mind. But, which couple lives peacefully? But, life is meant to drive people crazy in one way or the other. But, then? Where is he and why is he sick?
Because, we all are sick. Searching for people to cure our sickness, holding on hope to climb the allusive ladder to happiness?
Because, we all are poets. We were born to understand that we are sick, and if not understand, live through releasing an unknown expression that addresses the sickness and release the puss of hatred.
Punching the wall once,
Was one word in peace,
Holding the pain in grief,
Was blocking a tsunami to dream.
Sagar Arora is a peaceful human being, in pain, that vents out regularly.
If not regularly, stay away from the infection. My hatred might be your love and then, you might die along with each word that you now read and forget.