“Two turtle doves will show thee
Where my cold ashes lie
And sadly murmuring tell thee
How in tears I did die”
― Nikolai Gogol
We , the humans, arguably the most evolved species of the time, nurture the habit of caring, treasuring what is most precious to us.
What if comes a day when you find that the diamond you treasured all the while in your trove is nothing but only a pebble?
Would you want to run away? Feel deceived and mourn the waste? Would you still cling on to the hope of turning that stone to diamond?
People, I see all around me look so empty. The appurtenance to the throbbing trance of the urban life is a vacuum. Look around, if you can spare a moment from your never ceasing array of indulgence, you will find eyes which has shine you would want to save, eyes which has deceit, eyes which has twisted tales of sorrow but what will you see is that they are equally void.
I wander lonely in the crowd, the catharsis of soot blanketed souls amazes me. I just look at them and hear what all they has to speak. They speak tall, they speak loud, they boast, they concede, they comprehend and all of them, I heard, they lament the loss of a bright soul into the filthiness of circumstances. My friend, the world is round, and earth today is smaller than the tiniest of the stars we have never known, we all lament and do so of each other.
We are all in search of happiness but what is happiness if we have never been content? I hear my dear friend say, of leaving the worldly pleasures and I can read in the shine of those eyes, how much tangled is the soul in the web of materialism and how much it is just a slave of human bonds. I would have saved the light in them if I was let to.
Life knows no reason. All it knows is the trajectory which we build , we break and we bridge. I might not have it all, know it all but I know what I know and I mind not learning. Can we not stop treasuring for a moment and start gathering more to care?
Well the answer is up for a toss. The storm has gathered momentum. I might not be there for generations but dear friend, my words will be here, forever. They are not tall neither loud, they are mellow whispered in your ears but is certain to ring, recur in your mind.
Ask if you may, if you can, to yourself and nobody knows it better.