Disillusioned matchsticks trembled with fear,
As they cannot dazzle themselves anymore, with the infinite burning flashes..
Pious and holy and for two requited souls to unite,
Catastrophe, by dissolving everything into ashes.
Our little universe inside us,
Questions and interrogates the nuances of the mere terrestrial life,
Glazing motion and tempestuous greed
Strings attached to the spine; yes we are trivial puppets in the hands of that little universe inside.
Equations, theories and calculations
About some basic emotions and instincts.
“Why are you so weak? Why do you cry?”
“Why are you so rude? Why do you shout?”
It’s true, that human beings are endangered.
Values, emotions..
Love and kindness..
Are endangered now.
It’s all about a stiff competition
About who is superior.
Clashing egos like two blood thirsty swords..
Clinging and creating some unearthly noises.
Human beings have forgotten to glance at themselves,
In a mirror within them,
In a mirror named Soul.
Unmasking this masquerade requires courage.
We look for that burning flame,
Outside our muscular periphery..
In a parameter of tangible world
Where everything is sensed and touched.
The mirror, Soul cries in despair
Shrieks and screeches..
“The matchstick is right here.
You need to look for it and light it”
“Burn me you fool.
You greedy cur.
Burn me fast.”
Whispers the match stick inside us.
Few are the people, who light them..
Enlighten them
With ethereal fireflies
With golden rings and mysterious brightness.
And the others?
Are just mere beings.
Of flesh and blood.
Of hatred and despair.
And the others?
Are just mere beings.
Judgmental and mean.
Negative and discouraging.
Where am I?
Somewhere in the void..
Stuck in between..
Learning and moving on.
For those who have lighted up themselves,
I have a silvery casket decked with emeralds for you..
I keep your fireflies in them,
For revelation and revolution.
I free them in the darkness,
The darkness which glows only for me.
The inspirational darkness, cutting me..
Into halves.
I have plucked out my matchstick from my Soul
And I have tried to light it with your firefly
But the match stick is cursed.
It mocks at me, scorns and dies in the air as dust.
I have negotiated with my Soul,
It has promised me a new match stick,
Till then, Soul is singing me a lullaby..
Of bloodshed, eating flesh, wars and bullets.
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