Erratic Scribbles

Determination.

He was a fundamentally broken person. Nothing seemed to faze him. Not the darkness the world had or the passing beauty it seemed to posses.

He seemed like a tree, still and flowing with the wind. But yet, unlike a tree, he seemed to not embrace what was around him. He didn’t even reject it. He just stood still, right there, within all the chaos that surrounded him, unfazed and undeterred, continuing his existence like a symbol of an empty canvas.

As his shell stood there, his soul un-captivated, drifted asunder around him with the wind. With songs, wild emotions, darkness and light, it mixed in the air around him, creating an aura of awe that never really quite fell on the perspective of those around him. A silent scream lit up the world that he lived in, the void around him engulf with black fire, killing everything his vision laid eyes upon. Yet, in the real world, no one noticed him.

He stopped leaning towards the wall and lifted himself up. “Proper posture” he said as he put the cigarette within his lips, a habit more than an addiction. Unconcerned with the consequences of what lay ahead, he moved on, a mountain dragging behind him. Amidst the crowd he walked, with flames rife around him, burning, eating whatever the world had to offer. Chains clanked as he put on his headphones, oblivious to him, he dragged his feet with the mountain that followed him. “Dig down”, he repeated to himself, as the music started and the lyrics were spoken.

 

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His goal, seemed alien. Not the will to survive, not greed, not ambition, not greatness. He sought change. The void in his eyes seemed to give him life, the same life it seemed to take away. The eerie semblance to the darkness he had inside of him gave way to a vision of the future. Not that of prediction, but that of the ability to change what he saw.

And so he dragged on forward, amidst the crowd, willingly within the chaos of the world, unmoved, unfaltered, and uninterested.

Erratic Scribbles

The Daily Social Intercourse

Don’t we all wish to be the dark mysterious stranger and to perhaps one day, be awed at rather than the one doing the act. It is, perhaps these selfish desires, simple things in life, of wanting to be wearing another’s shoes, that help us mistake a human for a mythical being.

There’s little effort for some people when it comes to communication, but for others it can be a nightmare. The life of a mysterious stranger might as well be hell for the simple reason that he doesn’t know how to talk, to conduct basic communication, which is perhaps why he’s so mysterious.

The daily work a person puts into connecting with another person verbally or otherwise, is generally unaccounted for. For some, it can be hard to even comprehend, while for others, it comes as naturally as leaves to a tree. But poets who can’t rhyme, deserve no qualms in this world. And that is perhaps where, the ones who do know the truth of the world, go wrong.

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Source: pinterest.com/pin/288230444875929894

People, more than anything else, are what shape us to be who we are. And later, to become who we have to be. Depending on the situation, a person’s tone is enough to send a shiver down someone’s spine. Depending on where your thoughts wander, that is either good or bad, from your perspective. Words shape us to be who we are, some take it unto themselves to be a reflection of who they are on someone else’s mirror; while others reel in their desires to be invisible in the world. The few that run after balance, lose their path and fall in the chasm of disappointment, for there is no middle. Only mistakes and more mistakes.

And yet, even with it’s significant importance in our lives, so little is said about the daily social intercourse we have with each other through words, poetry, literature, music and other things of wonder.

It is perhaps, because of it’s negligence, that we go on to admire people who live life unfiltered, arrogant and overconfident. Growing up, the simple act of talking was painful to bear for the mysterious stranger. Not because he didn’t want to but because of the thought that no one understood him haunted his ever living self. From his perspective, the daily social intercourse between people, was no less than mesmerizing. From his observation, life was but beautifully weaving lives together in ways that he couldn’t comprehend. By his observation, he was but a pawn in the game of life. By others’ observations, he was but the main figure; idolized and transcended, and misunderstood.