Skip to main content
The undecided being


Our tracks were never made. We will never make them either. Paths aren't  created for others to walk on. And no one, I swear no one will ever walk the same path that you have. Our lives are as vast as this land. Our paths will be just the same way.
Do you make your path to walk on? You don't. You don't have a path. You don't build one. You don't follow a trail.
Life was never about having a path.
Life was always, always about getting lost.
But life was never about losing your purpose. It was never about looking at your past or future.
Life is, and will always be, about finding peace.
The true meaning of existence, of becoming a human.
Why do we spend hours trying to figure out what is wrong with us? Why don't we stop in the middle and realize that life is just a part of the existence? That mistakes are not worth sobbing over if we don't have much time?
Do you know how close you are to death?
Do you realize how mortal you are? How little time you have? That you have no trail, that you are meant to be lost?

Why, then, are you so divided? Undecided?



- अनुश्रुति  अधिकारी ( Anushruti  Adhikari )

Comments

  1. Bloody Brilliant.

    "Life was never about having a path.
    Life was always, always about getting lost."

    And everything that followed after these lines..

    WOW!!
    ( I even tweeted the lines)
    Do write more of these. :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Week After The Valentine's I haven't understood love. As we grow up, our perception of love and life differs greatly. Often, we tend to overshadow one with the other, and that is exactly where we make mistakes. Balance. Balance. Balance. It's everything we want. What's worse, is that we are flawless humans, which means we have a chain of imperfections and we constantly need someone to appreciate them. Why, I wonder, can't we do it ourselves? My greatest struggle with self is acceptance. Appreciation. I'm divided. I want to show people that I am divided. Then I want them to love me even more. That's love for me. Valentine's day comes and goes, yet not a single day do you accept yourself. We leave the job of loving ourselves to each other. We praise each other, talk at lengths about each other, find ourselves in each other. Because we chose the other, before ourselves. We tend to sink in the gravity of someone else's affection. It's ou...

Ageing Heart

My ageing heart is a tree, on the far end of this park I wait and watch its twigs and trunks, even when it's quite dark Your memory has latched onto the branches, like a leaf And I a fool, always thought they'd wilt like autumn leaves But autumn came and went, and the leaves stayed strong Surpassing time, grief and acceptance, for far too long The memory bothers the soul, who is busy writing the encore It knocks too hard, and often too loud at its porous door This memory is messy and it smells It has no love for me, just no respect It captures attention and laughs, it spills the spoils Memory is not strong, it's not smart, but oh god the chatter, the moil It dries up my throat in the middle of the night Overflows my heart at inappropriate times And the leaves just don't leave! They defile my beautiful ageing heart of a tree I ask for it to stay strong, so it weeps silently How I wait for a gardener to come and tell me some lie "I've checked all over, and everyt...

When Charlie decided

When Charlie decided to die, his bagpack lost its painful weight of monotony and helplessness. A man standing behind him shoved his way to the front, nearly pushing him out of balance. Strong stench of tired armpits spread across the bus, mixing with the smell of diesel and something rotten. But Charlie had decided to die. So it was okay.   So how should he die?   When he reached his room, he undressed himself to nothing and looked around. His clothes were either dirty or unfolded. Ramita didi who would have to clean them tomorrow. Surely, she’d be the first to know about dead Charlie, but why would she clean the clothes of a dead man now?   He washed his dirty clothes and hung them to dry. The rest were ironed and folded neatly.   The day they find Charlie’s body in the room, Paale dai might look around and see these untouched pairs of shirts and pants, then decide to take it for his son.   He opened his fridge. The old broken mach...