It's such a beautiful and warm summer day, but I sit inside and watch as the shade passes away.
The bright blue skies passes over with a looming feeling of grey. Pink and green and yellow to orange but just left with a sense of being tired. Is this my home? Just feels like a stop along my way. Preaching words of wisdom and telling everyone it will be okay, how can I tell someone that they will be if I'm not okay?
Hard to know what a red flag is when I look at the world through a rose tinted glass, not knowing which moment will be my last.
Maybe it does get easier as each day passes, but that's the hard part, having to do it each day.
Maybe it's not my time to enjoy a beautiful summer day, so I better get going on my way.
Born into this world, that's filled with color
Hoping just to be kind to one and other
A blank canvas, on a artists wall
Moulded like a flower, ever so small.
Actions you take, steps you make
Decisions you've made, due to someone's aid
A painting, brushed by the colors all around you
All these colors, but which one to choose?
Maybe indigo, or teal to be as strong as steel
Or sapphire is your style, a black fire that's versatile
Turquoise if you're weird, cyan too
Ultramarine to be feared, or just an ol midnight blue.
All these colors to look up to
But in the end, we are all just shades of blue.
Sometimes you wonder if you're significant
After all there is 7 billion of us, how am I any different?
Maybe there is someone out there that is just like me
Talks like me, walks like me, thinks like me, but isn't me.
The ego we have to think we are special
A speck of dust made of star stuff on aboard a giant vessel
Hurdling through space at magnificent speeds
Yet going no where, just staying still it seems
The moonlight seems real, the sunlight warm
But does it matter? It doesn't mean much after all
You start dying the moment you were born
Start your journey as a rose just to be a thorn.
In a thousand years we'll be long gone
maybe what we write here would live on.
Ten minutes after this is written, ten days a year or a hundred
Would you have been the last person to have read this I wondered.
Seems insignificant doesn't it, quite demeaning
So enjoy the little things in life, maybe that's what gives us meaning.
A nice cup of tea or a good book to read
Telling a loved one how much you love them, for that moment would seem insignificant, but to them it would mean everything.
Sitting in silence wrapped in thought
Thinking of what could have been and what was.
Being distraught over the mistakes you've made in life, some few, many most.
Yet the bitter sweet melancholy of life continues, without giving you a second thought.
But here I am, still going deeper into the rabbit hole that are my thoughts.
Some hate the silence, the thought of being alone, for it shows who you really are.
Maybe abit of gratitude for where you are, a change in attitude here and there, an appreciation for the solitude, will get you there. -Akash De Mello
— The End —