The weight of my sorrows reaches that point when I must write to express my emotions and remove the weight of sorrow! The soul is to be carefree, but, what? What? Are we not hounded by the artifices of delusion? Is not the certainty of death, itself, an unlovable thought – that pesters me?


Moreover, I am distressed when my fair reasoning has been under-valued, ignored, even sabotaged! As a repeated fact of self-created history by someone else – why must I have to suffer the consequences, again and again? The recurring sequence is overwhelmingly – agitating.  The situation assaults my dignity.  During such situations, I look for a balance – I am burnt out, and alone. I am nervous, because I can see from the source, there is more coming on… brought upon me by the blunders of others. Is that fair?


Can I rebel? Can I keep an eye to protect myself from those emotional attacks? Ah! The pen! My pen comes to my rescue… to consume the world… my world of fire. At least, that’s how I feel though my vigor is sapped. 


Through the billowing haze, I also have battles going on catapulting me with personal memories still struggling to be erased.  By that I mean, it could be a street-scene of a brawl; it could be a small boy residing on a pathway – being beaten up by bullies… and I am told to lay off!  Additionally, any lingering scenes of my dear mother’s or father’s passing away – when those memories surface, they immediately mould me into unhappiness.


When, finally, the scales of my own demise appear before my inner eye, in a symmetry of calmness (how did I manage that!) – I have some directions to give to my beloved ones….

Geeta Chhabra


From the book: Smash My Glass by Geeta Chhabra


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