1.
Wrapped in the warm cocoon of my lover’s room,
while rain taps a melancholy melody on the windowpane
His kisses linger like whispers in a quiet room,
his love a blazing fire that warms my soul
Yet beyond this refuge of warmth,
the world churns with an orchestra of despair.
Beyond these walls,
suffering prowls the world unabated
Children wither under the weight of neglect,
hearts break to the silent cries of forsaken souls
In distant corners, girls stifle tears in kitchens
while boys bear the heavy mantle of family responsibility.
And here I am, amidst warmth and comfort,
grappling with the ghosts of my own afflictions
Each touch from my lover rekindles a pain born of yesteryears—
a burden forged in childhood’s crucible,
where innocence shattered and guilt took root
Father’s absence carved a void of blame,
and Mother’s tears cut scars deeper than words could convey.
Friendship, once sought, now eludes me
in a dance of fragile trust and shattered illusions
Each goodbye leaves cracks in my spirit,
echoes of my mother’s words
resonating through the halls of my heart.
In this dichotomy of existence,
where opulence meets anguish,
I am torn between privilege and pain,
guilt and grief.
For who am I to claim hardship
when others endure far greater burdens?
To claim suffering seems an affront
amidst such visible torment elsewhere
Yet, in the silence of this room,
where rain mingles with tears unseen
unseen scars paint a portrait of suffering endured,
an image of fractured bonds and relentless doubt
Thus, as day fades into night
and the rain continues its lament,
I am reminded—
suffering wears many masks,
some evident,
others cloaked in the shadows of whispered memories
And though my sanctuary may shield me momentarily,
the ache within remains—
2.
Amidst the whispers of a restless mind, an isolated truth lingers like an unanswered prayer: “I am loved.” Each syllable echoes through the chambers of a heart weighed down by the weight of certainty. Mother’s tender gaze, sister’s unwavering support, brother’s silent friendship, friends’ laughter like fleeting melodies, lover’s embrace warm as the sun’s final caress — all bound in love’s embrace. Yet beneath this veil of assurance, a ghost stirs.
Why, then, does the hunger persist, gnawing at the soul’s delicate fabric? What elusive essence eludes this grasp of contentment? A human frailty, perhaps, to yearn beyond the comfort of devotion, to crave the intangible with a treacherous heart. Days dawn with a longing unspoken, an ache unnamed, birthing needless strife in the arms of affection. The sight of joy in others births a torrent within, a tempest of envy and unyielding rage, casting shadows upon happiness held within grasp.
And amid these contradictions, amidst the warmth of a welcoming hearth and the gentle inquiries of a lover, there blooms a quiet despair. A disquietude that festers beneath the surface of all that is cherished — a lament for an unknown craving, a fury born of unvoiced wants. “I am happy,” echoes the refrain, yet happiness wavers like a flame in the wind, flickering against the chill of unspoken desires.
For what haunts the restless soul, if not the yearning for what can never be grasped? What stirs the tempest within, if not the void carved by unmet needs? In the soft embrace of those who love, there lies a paradox — the ache of fulfilment unfulfilled, the discordant melody of a heart’s unending quest.
3.
In the quiet aftermath of night’s warm embrace, when the tendrils of your lover’s touch still linger like whispered promises in the air, and the soft murmur of morning pleasantries exchanged among kin fills the room, there persists a haunting truth that shadows the edges of existence: life, despite its fleeting comforts—a sip of steaming tea to warm cold hands, the ritualistic drag of a cigarette in solitary reflection—is often cloaked in loneliness.
Loneliness resides not just in the solitary vigil of calloused hands cradling that cigarette, nor solely in the melancholic gaze fixed upon raindrops cascading from leaf to soil, where a myriad of thoughts swirl unbidden like restless spirits. It’s more profound than that. It’s the subtle ache that tugs at the heart in the midst of a crowded room, the silent weight of unspoken words that hang heavy between souls.
Yet, amid this symphony of unvoiced burdens and the relentless march of time, there echoes a poignant lament—then unyielding loneliness that stands as an unbidden companion, observed by none, heard by none, understood by none. It is you, in the stillness of your own existence, wandering the corridors of a solitary life where the depths of loneliness echo louder than any whispered solace of companionship.
It’s in the quiet moments, when the world hums its own tune and you stand apart, that loneliness unveils its true face—a reflection of longing and a yearning for connection that transcends physical presence. It’s in the contemplative silence of starlit skies and the vastness of the ocean’s embrace, where solitude meets the infinite expanse of the universe, that loneliness finds its paradoxical solace.
For even in the depths of solitude, there exists a profound beauty—a raw, unfiltered intimacy with one’s own thoughts and emotions. It’s here, amidst the ebb and flow of life’s tides, that loneliness becomes not just a burden but a silent companion, guiding us through the labyrinth of our inner worlds.
So, yes, perhaps Sylvia Plath was right: “God, but life is loneliness…”. Life is loneliness.
4.
In the eerie silence of the night, where shadows stretch and whispers cling to the air like tendrils of mist, I find myself entwined in a dance with the demons of my own creation. They flicker and sway around me, their forms nebulous and haunting, echoing the deepest recesses of my mind.
In this nocturnal realm, I am a relentless seeker, chasing after stars that shimmer in the velvet expanse above. Each one beckons with a promise of brilliance, a fleeting moment of transcendence. Yet, like a hungry beast, I lunge forward, grasping at their fading light with desperate, greedy mouths. Each captured star, once vibrant and alluring, diminishes in my hands, leaving me with nothing but the bitter taste of longing.
Lost within the labyrinth of my own illusions, I am ensnared by visions of power and significance. I weave intricate webs of self-deception, crafting grand narratives and painting vivid scenes of triumph. Yet, beneath the facade of ambition lies a hollow emptiness, a sanctuary built upon shifting sands. Its walls echo with the hollow laughter of disillusionment, mocking my futile attempts at fulfillment.
In this spectral landscape, time bends and stretches, blurring the boundaries between dream and reality. Whispers grow louder, morphing into echoes of forgotten desires and unfulfilled aspirations. Shadows dance with eerie grace, their movements a reflection of the turmoil within.
And so, under the cloak of night, I confront the shadows and dance with the demons, navigating the labyrinth of my own making. Each step forward is a battle against the darkness, a quest for meaning amidst the vast expanse of uncertainty. Yet, amid the whispers and illusions, there remains a flickering star that refuses to fade. Why doesn’t it die?
