This is how it ends.
Want to believe that my eyes are closed, when they are open.
So many things happen- you don't want them to.
But they happen; they don't seek your permission.
They don't wait for you to prepare; they just happen.
My eyes are pained;
They bear water.
And yet the dryness tells me, I am illusioned.
That when I speak, I hear silence.
When I feel, I sense numbness.
I am illusion.
I am not what I think, not what I feel, not what I say.
I am an illusion.
I sleep when I wake.
I dream when I think.
I am the illusion
The illusion, which is only one, one of the many, who live in this illusion.
And donot realize, that illusions fade,
That they fade and then realize, they'd been dreaming all their lives.
People shout.
They shout and scream, but I prefer weeps.
Very silently, they pass- not many see it.
It is hard to see, only the water remains.
Nobody senses the pain, the anger, the anguish, the screams, the shouts, the love, the hatred,
The little heart shattered and the mind broken,
They pass away silently.
But they never remain quiet.
They are always set ablaze in your soul.
They burn and watch you burn.
Bit by bit. Moment by moment.
You prick the skin a little too deep.
The noise will subside, the noise won't.
That voice, unheard by all,
Enters your mind.
And pricks it, a little too deep.
This way it ends.
When you unclench your fist
Open your eyes down
And with a hazy vision, look what you have
And find nothing.
You want to close your eyes
And let things happen.
Let things flow out of your will
And you feel when water drips down your eyes
Painfully.
You let everything lose their way to you.
But one thing won't.
Because by now, you understand it wasn't an illusion.
Suffering is meant to guide you to eternity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Whispers
Short Story[#1 in readbetweenthelines] [Featured in GothicLit Reading List] Some things we don't say. But those thoughts never vanish. They just go a bit deeper and shake up the inner conscience. Hi there, these are some self-composed short stories that might...
