The Memories of Oblivion

The stories of ghosts scared me, when i was a child.

Now i am nor a toddler nor a child who is afraid of the dark.

Dear mother! i do not need thy lap nor hugs for fear of dark, but now i need thy hugs and lap more against what lurks out there amidst humanity.

Too many things scare me now: like the fear of not worth living my life or livng a common miserable life. The notion of normality awakens my worst nightmares.

How miserable is a soul that is born and raised and mates and dies. Like a fodder for the life that is to come in the days to dawn. How miserable is the man indeed?

Heed to me of what i fear: a life of commonality; of trepidition and dying poor of heart and pocket; i fear the dilapidation of soul in impoverished slums of ignorance.

O holy mother of nature! i foresee thy ways have parted with poor. You don’t heed to their cries nor thou nurse the wounds of those saddened by thy biased ways.

Let there be no segregation nor blasphemy; nor greed in hearts of men. Lets share our grains of food; our barrels of wine and lets dig out the jewlels of love buried below the layers of conditionality and greed.

Lets set ablaze our souls’ and dance in flames of joy so we may burn the colors of hate and pride and instead be in a holi of jublition; lets eat and drink and dance. Let us steer our ships of hope in to the seas of love, so one day we may find the shores of hope for us, build a home and celebrate the rule of humanity at last.

This is what scares me mother so when i seek thy lap next time, know that this what that has bought me to thy lap, to redeem itself of the cries of its naive conscience.

This is what i fear the most.