Do not be at a liberty To leave little lies lying and leaping about Lock them up in a large lead box Lest they light a fire in your lovely life because
Little lies love to loathe lovely lives Little lies long to link to each other and Form a large lump or a long line Of lethal missile To launch an onslaught of loneliness Upon loving hearts and Tear them apart Like only little lies can do
Little lies lay low Only for a little while They get hungry pretty quickly Limitlessly and Demand to consume larger and larger Chunks of your lively life
Once uttered, apologise Let them not levitate In front of your eyes When they’re little they’re brittle That’s when the damage done can be limited Lose not the sight of The long-term lugubriousness That will not be lulled with a lullaby
Let this be a lesson for life Never let your luscious lips Lose their lustre to little lies because Little lies love to loathe lovely lives
Because death is such a human way of saying that the body is no longer breathing; Calling it a really long nap would make it sound frivolous; It would take away the seriousness with which we dispose off the unconscious mass of flesh and bones; Who or what will comfort the “living” but the relief attained on releasing the body back to Nature — back to where it came from? Because death’s job is to carve out suffering from the victim and divide it amongst the ones left behind Disproportionately
My mother is not dead because death is merely a placeholder — a term used to define the end of the person we used to know for that person has now changed — that person no longer listens to your stories or laughs at your jokes; that person no longer looks into your eyes or waves you goodbye; that person no longer smiles; that person no longer cries; that person does nothing human; that person has changed and that changes you
My mother is not dead because death requires birth and birth is merely a placeholder — a term used to denote the beginning of all that “life” has to offer because a life may be just a collection of chemicals but oh what a beautifully built assemblage it can be: full of proteins, energy, blood hair, hands, legs, nose eyes, ears, lungs, toes and most importantly, love
My mother is not dead because birth is such a human way of saying that the body has stepped out of the womb into the light of the day; How else would you describe the culmination of a masterpiece nine months in the making, resulting in screams of exultation and tears in a small group of adults clamouring to hold the little bundle in their arms? But the baby was there before it stepped out of the womb — in the form of a foetus with its organs growing and maturing, and before that it was an embryo, and a blastocyst, and a morula, and a zygote, and a gamete split half into one and half into another; and if we trace it further back we will reach the “death” of stars; the baby has always been around you have always been around I have always been around in one form or another; only in this form I am conscious with proper feelings only in this form I have a name a proper noun only in this form I get to call her Ma
I turn and reach for the phone The light shocks the sleep out of my eyes It’s 3:42 am and the world outside is as Dark as dark could be
The phone tells me it’s Sunday already But is it really? It was dark when I went to sleep On an ordinary Saturday night And it is the same dark Which surrounds me now When did Saturday and Sunday change hands? Do they have a defined process? Is it documented and verified by cosmic powers? Is it periodically checked and reviewed by superiors?
How does the transition work? Does Saturday box all his Baggage and hands over to Sunday? Does Saturday switch off while Sunday switches on? Does Saturday serve his notice period? Does Saturday say to Sunday — this Is all the darkness I could Handle, now it’s your problem; I’m outta here I don’t know It’s dark outside and my wife is snoring gently Maybe my wife would have the answers But she’s asleep Peacefully, thankfully If she were awake she Would have asked me to Go back to sleep She says I think too much about work And too little about myself Do I? I don’t know It’s dark outside but some birds are busy chirping
I wonder if they saw the day change I wonder if they saw something spectacular And are now busy discussing the impact It would have on the overall economy I wonder if my eyes will ever see anything spectacular Nothing spectacular has ever hit them Nothing yet, but I am hopeful If my wife were awake She would have told me that Everyone gets what they deserve That what is meant to be will be
I wonder if darkness was meant to be This darkness — this which envelops me Like a ghastly blanket Did it have a schedule handed out? Is it merely following orders? Did someone write this in its destiny?
I let out a yawn Darkness has that effect on me Maybe somebody wrote that yawn in my destiny Somebody with powers enough To establish and run the universe Would have enough powers to Dictate the lives of ordinary human beings
I feel like a dumb chatbot Responsible for handling customer queries And providing them with the best possible Response based on pre-defined codes An existential crisis hits me Nothing spectacular though Many such crises have hit me At such odd hours
Maybe whoever wrote my destiny found it Amusing to hit me with an existential crisis At this time of the day when all is dark and quiet While my head is ruptured with endless thoughts
Whoever he or she or it is Must have had quite a chuckle when It must have been written in my destiny that I will Contemplate the creator’s existence at 3:49 am On an ordinary Saturday night/Sunday morning
I wish he would have written something spectacular in my life I don’t know what spectacular even means anymore Maybe I already have experienced spectacular things but never bothered to see them as such This life — the mere fact that I was born is spectacular, isn’t it? We seem to take that for granted I have taken it for granted all my life I have gotten wet in the rain I have felt the summer rays hit my skin and warm my soul I have seen what autumn does to leaves I have watched the snow turn the world white I have fallen in love I have got married I have seen ants scurry around my feet I have found a job after going through the horrible ordeal of an interview I have been promoted I have moved countries I have spoken languages I have had dreams I have had nightmares I have stayed awake all night I have contemplated the creator on a Saturday night/Sunday morning
Whether or not he or she or it is real Is not within my comprehension It’s 3:52 am and I am in the dark
Though he is inherently curious A man is limited by his body and his senses
He may put in years of effort and Become an expert in one niche field Or maybe two or three
But he can never come close to Understanding all that there is to understand
And it’s okay It really is okay to not know everything It is what keeps us curious and hungry It is okay to not have all The answers at the click of a button It is okay to be unaware
What is not okay, however Is to have no questions at all
It is far better to have one question and zero knowledge Than it is to have expertise with brash certainty
Be curious Be thirsty But never ever believe that you or Somebody else has all the answers Be inquisitive Be a doubting Thomas Because doubts are exercises for the mind
The more you exercise The stronger your mental muscles will become It will hurt a little initially Growth is never smooth or easy One must struggle through pain and barriers To reach new heights But rest assured You will be stronger Wiser for it
A doubt will enrich you More than an answer ever could
Wounded by life You stand broken; Heart shattered Into a thousand pieces
I know you are Not the kind of Person to ask For help but let Me give it to you Anyway
Let me put you Back together Piece by piece
Let me broaden that smile Let me glue your confidence back Let me stick joy in your body Let me match your skin with bright sunlight
Let me throw away All the unnecessary pieces
Let me wipe those tears Let me remove damaging thoughts from your head Let me cast away your fears Let me discard your insecurities Let me remind you how beautiful and whole you can be
Frank Solanki 