I can’t speak for others
Because its not my place to.
But lately I’ve been thinking
These thoughts that loom over
The usual stream of words
That my mind echoes on a
Every second basis.
These thoughts are my soul’s
I like to believe, weirdly enough.
Others say the soul is silent.
How do they know?
Perhaps they’ve never felt the constant unrest mine feels
When it cannot shut the
Incessant background noises?
My soul has something to say.
Something I lost in the depth
Of my memory – as I grew up.
As I stretched out, that connect
With the self, withdrew inwards.
And now I’m stormed by
Whirlwinds of stimulated thoughts
That have no heads or tails.
Now I look : up at the sky,
Eat things I loved as a kid,
Go to places I left memories behind,
Do things I did with my tinier hands.
Anything at all : to awaken those
Triggers which will take me to
Myself: the one that’s hidden safe.
So I can usher it out,
Apologise for the ignorance
And hope for forgiveness.
I need to get back to the
Simple things that made me
Happy : so happy it didn’t matter
What my next meal was,
Or what my partner thinks about me.
Nothing at all : just that moment
And my eagerness to see how the
World would play with me.
Because life is not lived by me
Anymore. I only think. Over think.
Worry about things I can’t control.
Love, hoping for reciprocation
And work tirelessly for an appreciation
That doesn’t matter in the greater
Scheme of things.
My broken verses bring out
My pain: the pain of a person searching for a soul that’s silent.
Because this however needs
That light that shone bright
In an other age.
An age that I called: Happiness.