Flow like a river, whispers the lake

by shalinijena

Its tiring. This pursuit of happiness.
Somewhere in the deep tresses of logic and practicality,
it seems to have lost all meaning.
And yet its not all sad and its not all happy.
Its nice and yet its not, cos its addictive.
One might wonder how is that something to be sad about?
Addiction to something we like which tends to be good for the ‘much later’
how can somebody crib at that.

Perhaps.

Somehow I have come to realize that
true happiness can only be achieved with no baggage,
no attachment and when there is nothing to lose.
Once we enrol ourselves in the routine of the world,
of the perfect poster lives we think of belonging to –
– there is just so much to let go of..

its easier to introspect, even easier to come to a conclusion..
but, satisfaction –
– I don’t even think I know what it means anymore.

What is this restlessness?
This hunger for greatness.
So binding, so compelling and yet so fake.
It makes me want to throw up at times,
thinking of all that I have become and that only I know of it.
What could the reasons be
and even if the reasons to be, have a soul to talk to.
I don’t know who to and who not to.

Let there be some more hope,
hope or illusion to call
but to just smile sometimes about
If a life to live
Is a life to die for
Perhaps there is something to gain
and yet not much to lose.

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