that the world, in itself, isn't really as free
as serene as you think.
But to embrace the true self
and love all the hearts decorated on that shelf
that's something I'd like to think.
As morose as the story goes,
the typical story of a kid becoming an adult,
the overused tale of a child who did not care,
but due to some traumatic events,
due to some shift in thought,
is forced to grow up, be mature,
be more receiving of the world's torture.
Yet, sometimes, I ponder,
am I the only one who goes through this,
am I the only one who ever thinks like this?
The complication of the simplest question
of love, of being human,
of the purpose in our lives here on earth.
People tend to wonder
what happens after we pass on,
will our brief presence in this world
be nothing more than earthly nutrients,
or will we be more than that,
will we be the ripple that transcends through
the past, present, and future?
I walk along the Aisle of Hatred,
once known as the Aisle of Love,
what I once felt was love,
yet for a moment, back then,
all I felt was hatred
for myself, for others,
for everything that defined us as humans.
I tried to look further away,
I tried to run further away,
but all that I sought for
was within me, all along.
And I rebuild it, never to hate again,
never to cry again;
a road never to intertwine
with the path of the lost wanderers,
the lost personalities,
the lost identities.
And I rebuild it, never to be late again
for the seasons of loving,
for the seasons of healing.
And thus I rebuild it, never to hate again.
I stand on the Presentation Stage,
a symbol of control,
a symbol of pride,
but was the savior, was the key
to understand the ways to be free
from all the suffering,
from all the gloating,
and learn to love and be loved
even while presenting.
And I rebuild it, never to symbolize again,
never to lift me up again,
for I belong in the audience,
I am part of the audience,
just like anyone else,
just like everyone else.
And I rebuild it, never to criticize again,
and learn to understand others,
and learn to be kind to others.
And thus I rebuild it, never to symbolize again.
I loiter in the Exhibition of Suffering,
I often ponder,
sufferings are still sufferings,
irrespective of nature,
exhibition and comparison
will never bring closure.
Is the exhibition of suffering
in itself, a suffering,
or is the exhibition of suffering
in itself, a healing?
And I rebuild it, never to compare again,
never to justify again,
but sufferings that are mental
are the maturation of the soul;
but that does not justify
the pride of a better suffering.
And I rebuild it, never to despair again,
as emotions are for the greatness of life,
as emotions are for the humanness of life.
And thus I rebuild it, never to compare again.
I swim in the Pool of Brainwash,
floating around, sinking around,
is it an exercise, or is it to save my life;
is it a compromise, or is it to drown my life?
A cleansing, a bathing,
chlorinated foam that consumes my life,
dragging me away from my life,
into the realms of another's life.
Yet, ain't it a bit too convenient,
ain't it an essential survival skill,
or is it bringing me closer and closer
to the tides of inhumanity?
And I rebuild it, never to flow again,
never to flow into my life again,
never to wash my brains again,
for it is better named 'flexibility',
an actual skill, not a brainwash,
for I am still me, for I am still me.
And I rebuild it, never to glow again,
never to entice me to drown myself,
never to seduce me to drown myself.
And thus I rebuild it, never to flow again.
I explore the Garden of True Selves,
wondering where has my true self gone to,
wondering if I still have a true self,
or is it over there, on that dusty shelf.
The spring wind no longer cools me down
from the piercing heat of the summer,
the autumn wind no longer calms me down,
from the paralyzing cold of the winter.
But at least, the leaves are there for me;
the trees, the grass, the flowers,
the butterflies, the birds, the crickets,
the sun, the moon, the earth,
and I reminisce of a better time on earth.
And I rebuild it, never to hide again,
but showcase all my true selves to the world,
for I am me, and nothing will change that,
nothing will hide me from me.
Yet, I may no longer be free,
no longer be able to hide in my fantasy,
but the true self is crucial for being human,
and is crucial to love another human.
And I rebuild it, never to guide again,
for I will no longer be lost in this fantasy,
for I will no longer be lost in this reality.
And thus I rebuild it, never to hide again.
I admire the Monument of The Artist,
a symbol of my pride,
but it is no longer something I want to hide,
so that I will not have lied
to the world that I'm on their side,
that I am wide-eyed, that I am battle-tried,
that I'm dried out and dyed, that I'm fried out and cried.
The monument is mine, same as the others,
having their own monuments, the same level as mine.
A monument to admire, a monument to understand,
golden as required, golden to inspire.
For pride is necessary in our everyday lives,
yet too much can bring the end of our lives.
And I rebuild it, never to have spoken again,
never to speak in place of me again,
never to give me peace again,
for I will bring about my own peace,
I will bring peace through humanity,
through love, through a promise,
that we'll be there for each other
forever and ever.
And I rebuild it, never to be golden again,
but sometimes I think I'll regret it,
but sometimes I think I'll forget it.
And thus I rebuild it, never to have spoken again.
What about the Apostasy,
the selling of the Pavilion of Identities?
The offer has been retracted,
sorry to all you potential buyers out there.
But I'm keeping this safe haven, just a little longer,
maybe till forever,
as long as humanity lives.
I promise it will never be destructive;
I promise it will never be repulsive;
I promise you
that I'll only be constructive.
I'll construct a safe haven for myself,
I'll construct a safe haven for you,
I'll construct safe havens for all of you,
for it is my duty, for it is my responsibility,
for it is our duty, for it is our responsibility,
to protect each other, to love each other,
together we'll be safe, in this haven named earth.
What about the Apocalpyse,
the destruction of the Pavilion of Identities?
It has been rebuilt,
rebuilt to all the humanest specifications.
The Aisle of Hatred is once again The Aisle of Love,
a path leading to love, and only love, and only love,
and only love.
The Presentation Stage is now the Presentation Field,
a field for all to present, and to represent me,
for all humans represent me, and I represent all humans.
The Exhibition of Suffering is no longer there,
as there is no longer a need to compare one's sufferings.
But I replaced it, with the Place of Compassion.
The Pool of Brainwash is dried up,
but then it rained one day, and rebuilt it
into the Pool of Flexibility, to take on the world.
The Garden of True Selves has been rebuilt
as a true part of me, as a true self of me,
as the true self of me, as tranquil as a garden.
The Monument of The Artist, remains as it is,
but now it can see, but now it can feel
the monuments of others, the monuments of humans.
But now I can see
and now I can feel
the scent of humans, the scent of my true self,
that my life is real,
that this is not fiction.
Everything I've been through, everything I've faced,
they all forged my true self,
they all made me into me.
But now, whenever pride
lulls me into a hypnosis,
I remember that every human
is an apotheosis.
"Why do you want to save me, why oh why?
Not just me, but all of me, all the lies
that I tell myself so that I could rise
from all the graves and all the broken ties.
But you, really I could not live without,
for you were there to hear my cries and shouts.
For what I wanted was to write about
all the parts of me that I have left out.
The everything that I have been through, now;
the nothings that I've yet to been through, now,
together, what do they make me, right now?
Am I at least something in this world, now?
The smiles, the frowns, the cries, they're everything;
yes, none of you will ever mean nothing.
Thanks to all of you, you've made me something;
but you, I would not trade for anything.
Anything at all;
for your love
is what makes me human."
- End
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