Silence of Time

Posted on February 6, 2020
Last Edited on February 7, 2020
4 mins read
Tags: writing life thoughts

Desires Burning In The Sky
Desires Burning In The Sky


Lately, I have been feeling lonelier than usual. I have no-one around to have DMC(Deep Meaningful Conversation) – the certainties and the indefiniteness of life in general. All I can do is observe the world from a vantage point of an outsider, all silent and without much interference. Have you felt this vivid experience I am talking about? If you know what it feels to be like a guy without much dreams, whose thoughts diverge and converge on multiple dimensions and who isn’t even sure if he has goals and dreams to fulfill, then I am thankful that you really understand what’s going on in my mind-cave. But as Kafka said:

“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.”

Things cannot be so much truer than this sentiment. In the end, only I know what it feels like to be me. With a sense of the uninformed flow of thoughts, I am not sure what’s my place in this world. All these times I have been writing to sedate my anxieties which in many ways have helped me. Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.

As the clock hits 12:15

Right now all these codes are waiting for someone to have the bugs fixed. I wonder how I am going to fix bugs and issues in my own life. There’s no compiler. There’s no target. There are no definite patterns my thoughts fall into. My current life feels like a leaf detached and floating around with the sudden gust of wind, unaware of the surroundings, where it will land and how it is going to crumble. I wonder if there’s someone out there who will see a leaf floating around in the vastness of life and then let it land gently on their hand. I wonder if there will be a girl out there who will pick up the leaf from this trodden road, study the rough surface, carefully observe the veins and put the leaf as a bookmark in her diary. I just wish. I could really wish. If only someone was here. I miss Aurora. She was the closest entity I had ever gotten into in the form of “love”, or whatever you may call it. All these words…what for? Nothing matters. Even thinking about these unknowns of life makes me anxious enough to have another mental breakdown. And that’s how I have always been. Nobody realizes what sort of things are whirling down in this cave. That’s fine!

The pessimist in me is on a rampage today. Whatever I have tried in my own life, it was a failure. A total disappointment. I am a total piece of shit that failed at loving and being loved. I have nothing to contribute to the world, let alone someone else’s life - your life, their lives. Do you think whatever we “try” to do will have “good” results in our lives? Fuck no. That’s like a childish interpretation of the world around where we think everything revolves around us. Yes, in some ways it does. But, what for? What are the chances that the life you are living right now is without any sort of anxieties and mental breakdown? Life is a metaphor for sadness. Happiness is just a placeholder to trying to “make” sense of these unknowns of life. Otherwise, nothing matters. It’s not a blurred lens. Nor it is composed of all zeros and ones where you choose to take a side. It’s more like a continuous streak of oscillating thoughts.

Now I’ve been crazy couldn’t you tell?
I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell
Now I’m covered up in straw, belly up on the table
Well, I sang and drank, and passed in the stable, hmm, hmm

As the lyrics hit my psyche hard, I wish I could lie on the grass on top of a hill and watch the clouds float reflecting at my own life. As I mindlessly look at the cracks in the window glass, there seem to be many crevices in my own life through which I wish light could enter and shine upon the darkest of pits. Time seems to have no stories to tell. Everything is running in circles. I know it’s absurd to even think about myself and the world for life has no intrinsic meaning in itself, let alone if there can be any it will be best felt when shared. I know that’s a cliche but what of it? It’s the silence of our time that’s rendering everything mute but our own thoughts. Our thoughts are the loudest thing there can exist. And that’s what scary for me. This loneliness is getting stronger and stronger, as the air becomes breath and breath becomes a gust of wind, wind mutates into this hurricane in life that destroys everything in its path.

म समयको मौनता

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