Picture this.

Picture a boy strangled to his own imaginative paradox. Picture someone with disfigured, repulsive and patchy thoughts in a straight body, having the perfect bad bushy hair. An all time undisputed champ of “Please judge me for my shabby appearance and dusty soul” competition.

See also : Comfortable but ugly chappals.

See also : A total colour blunder in the name of what goes on with what.

Picture a pretentious wannabe fuckpiece roaming in the posh areas of South Delhi. Picture his longing eyes wandering for enoughness tirelessly, only to be shamed by call of retrieval. Picture a boy who never knew the ways of men despite reaching the age where he could be called one.

A boy liked by none,not even by himself had slept for 12 hours straight so now you can judge him for being happy. He is funny. As in looks funny and talks funny. Eh,must not be depressed. Because that’s what people in depression avoid doing. He doesn’t like holding pointy objects though. He doesn’t like going to higher places or walking alone on the bridge. He is afraid to do all these things,so he mustn’t be depressed.

Sadness? Oh,he definitely got bored of that too. Yes,people can get bored of sadness without being happy. It’s called lifelessness. Let’s not call this depression because it’s a big word. Because there are always some Gurus and “goodquote” people on Instagram who advise people to cutoff from such kind. Because if a generous person hears about it,he might advise the boy to do the same and wouldn’t that be something considering the fact that the only negative person he knows is himself?

So he is not a pro lifer but he mustn’t be depressed because he is scared by the idea of ending a human life.

So picture a boy never been loved by anyone. He is just tolerated and controlled by people around him because they are nice humans. They sympathize with him and yet they never adored him or loved him. More like they are holding down the frustration because he is pitiable. Because he could use some kindness. Because he mustn’t feel that he is all alone and shouldn’t consider them ‘not so nice’ people afterall.

Picture this miserable human who can’t even fall in love because he isn’t allowed to. Because he is held by idea that only achievers, vibe givers, optimists and lookers deserve love. Picture his empty hands when he finally fell in love but couldn’t offer anything. So he might just shut himself and lock himself in the room of worthlessness while the key of hope is destroyed.

But nah,he mustn’t be depressed because it is a big word.

Picture his parched soul waiting to be watered by self worth in a drought prone land of desires. Now picture his agony giving in to apathy. Picture this poor boy who doesn’t even know what he wants. Picture this purposeless maggot who-now-doesn’t care what he wants.

Picture the transition of a deluded innocent kid to a boy who was eluded from every single thing that can be called ‘normal’.

What do you see?

What do the pictures look like?

If you play it as motion picture, would it become a cult classic?

Let’s not call it art because it lacks visionary pain or maybe because depression is a big word and there’s yet to be discovered a land where compassion grows.

Call it Sadness

What follows next is sadness. Please go away if you are in dire need of positivity or if you like to entertain anything but reality.

If you are looking for your daily dose of prose/poetry with quintessential usage of metaphor,this is where you stop. Abort. What follows next is an allegory. The mere catalogue of unabridged facts is exactly what will follow.

I am sad. I am anxious and I am sad. Not sad as in self-demeaning,self loathing sort of sad. Sad as in jealously sad. As in ‘hopeless envious’ sad. The anti-sadist sad sad.

My feed is full of people celebrating this thing called life; posting happy snaps,posting their beautiful smiling faces. To me,it is satisfying to see and that’s sad because I could never really relate to them. Could never imagine same thing happening to me,like me smiling and moulding as per the peers and that’s sad. My offerings include humour, lyrics and music score. And that’s sad because art and humour is derived from reality.

I see people celebrating love. People irrevocably in love;spreading love vibes. I am sad because I don’t catch their vibes. I am sad at the fact that my ability to feel and acknowledge love in accordance with the popular norm has diminished completely.

Sadly,I don’t even want to be wanted. Call it nihilism.Call it sadness.

The poets of my era are warriors. They fight,they write,they fight again. Consider a vast desert with no seeming end.They are the travellers hoping for the plains and an oasis is their temporary refuge. The poets of my era don’t write,they bleed. They paint their scars with brushes which work via pressure mechanism fueled by nothing but courage.

I read them and that makes me sad. It makes me sad because I hear a call for help amidst all hopelessness. Sadly,they are being congratulated for decorating their misery. Makes me sad that I can’t see what other fellow poets see when they find depth.All I could see or hear was a person sending out a call. The picture they are drawing isn’t beautiful,it is tragic. I feel sad as I am no more a rebel or maybe I was never a poet to begin with.Call me basic. Call this sadness.

I go out and I see people worshipping their human form,looking all flee. Sadly, I am sitting in these chappals while I wait for the metro to arrive at Malviya Nagar.They say meet new people daily,it helps in evolving as a mature human who has absorbed wide range of perceptions. Doesn’t help if you are not willing to look presentable or more importantly ‘talk’ presentable. I am sad because I never really mastered the art of talking the talk. It’s like I am the open book with detailed and honest explanation and the person who leaves is the top notch book reviewer. Some parted ways with negative reviews and some dozed off;leaving the pages unread..unturned.

End realisation: some people shouldn’t even try commuting and you my friend are one of those. Sadly,it came more natural to me than I expected. Look who’s the ultimate pro at deleting his social existence now?

Maybe I am just sad because I can see sadness lurking inside everyone who have forcefully supressed it under their armour of pretentious confidence.How is ignorance curing sadness is beyond me. When did sadness became a thing to boycott as to induce positivity? Isn’t it amusing how they feel sad over a fictional character death in a TV series while they refuse to acknowledge the grave situation other people(live people turning into corpses) are in?

Talk about this courageous Netflix generation!

I am sad at the fact that I might become this nihilist prick who knows nothing but apathy. I fear the process has found its catalyst in the worthlessness in me. The questions have dried up,the thoughts have evaporated and then there is this comforting calm that holds me and eradicates every ounce of zeal while I stay motionless,emotionless.

Yeah,let me just ignore human existence. Worth it.