I don’t feel like writing tonight.
Basking in the silence of these blank spaces
embedded in nonsensical chatter.
Free from my incessant rant;
A lull in the war between my conscious thoughts
and unconscious interruptions.
I’ve grown weary of my mind.
I don’t feel like listening tonight.
Black ink on a piece of paper
mirroring the darkness from deep inside my dreams;
Nightmares to whoever lays eyes upon and listen’s to the words
on this parchment stained with the blood of a thousand lives.
Lives I’ve lived inside my mind,
with each thought that pervades an existence that preceded it.
I don’t feel like seeing tonight.
With my eyes shut,
dead in the silence of this darkness.
Free from images of that, which is un-perceivable.
The fragrance of rain that washed away my past
and gave me a chance to live a future
which I spend in search of memories
that have long been forgotten in the rain.
Floating in Unconscious space;
Suspended in the empty vacuum of my heart;
Far from the reach of light and fear of the dark;
My silence sets me free from my bondage,
severing my ties to this self-righteous trap we set in our minds,
and so fondly refer to, as “society”.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar