Have you ever seen a butterfly grow out of her cocoon? Her wings are the first to greet the first Sun of her new life.
Do you know why?
It’s a victory ritual. A token to celebrate everything she survived. To celebrate all that made her into who she is now.
The last of the thins of her cocoon break soon. Her struggle to break free ends sooner. The light at the end of the tunnel flows out of her daydreams to bring charms to her reality… A reality she once wanted to run away from. She eventually did… She ran, but only to get closer to who she was.
Have you ever noticed how often writers sell hope wrapped in this exact same tale?
Have you ever wondered why?
It’s a peacemaker’s chant. One meant to make you believe in the power of fallen joy. Meant to make you believe that one day you will wake up to realize how you had never fallen prey to the dark but had only been pulled into its embrace till you got stronger to face the world again.
It’s a poet’s favorite metaphor; her favorite choice of weapon to spill beauty in a world that is threatened by it.
It’s an intricate piece of abstract art, with love spilled all over- a little to see and a lot to feel.
But mostly, it’s a reminder, a letter speaking about all our lost smiles and addressing them back to us, exactly where we had lost them.
It’s midnight. Dew has settled on its favorite leaves, leaving no room for them to face the bare danger. The street light is a little too yellow, piercing through the dark to find the naked loneliness hiding in each corner.
It’s too dark for the peace to set in and a little less dark for the things to fall silent, and all of us are simply hanging in the middle of nothing. An empty nothingness.
Somewhere somehow two hearts are lying in their beds thinking about each other without having ever met. Doesn’t that evoke wonder in you?
The world is so huge yet so small. Vast yet beautifully knit. Distant yet so close. The world is like a mirage standing in the middle of a desert waiting for you to find its lies and yet it’s like a magnificent castle standing on the top of a hill, far out of your reach.
How can something be so desirable yet so repelling at the same time? So wondrous yet so ordinary in the same moment? Is this what you call magic? The one that keeps us running around in circles?
Finding answers to the questions we once had, only to find more questions waiting for us. Waking up each morning to wait for the day to end and not being able to sleep in the wait of the next day to rise.
Life is somehow running by the wheel, and not once do we ever question where it’s going. If at all we do, the possibility of a lack of answers scares us and we go back to doing what we were doing, trying to blur lines between what is and what is not.
How will we ever know when to finally break the cycle? How will we ever break free and fly away only to land in our very own paradise? Does this place really exist or is it just a whim of theory?
But the real question is, if the answer was no, would we take it?
Memories have a strange habit. They fade away… and they do so faster when you don’t want them to. Maybe that is why people came into the habit of writing whatever happened around them. Writing was their helpless attempt at trying to hold quicksand.
Words lose meaning once they stop carrying stories around… but if they truly wanted to tell those tales, they would have. Why didn’t they?
Every heart in this world speaks in the tongue of an artist, and yet you don’t have many to celebrate; mostly because they are afraid to scream and a world that is full of noise fails to hear their whispers.
Why whisper the truth, you ask? What would you do if you were standing in a crowd full of thieves who prey on secrets?