Can not the world be vague?

Bound books, thick and theoretical and imposing intelligence on students still unaffected by the many masks the world wears, abysmal aberrations they are indeed. There is this animal instinct in mankind to define everything, as if every grand and trivial object on earth can have a definite form. Define man. Define woman. Define love. Define the ray of sunshine that graciously streams in from the open window forming criss-cross patterns as it falls on the tiled floor. The sense of satisfaction when one has something succinctly defined and written down in a neat hand is as they say, out of the world.

But we must beg to differ.

If anything, this satisfaction can only be next to that of not being able to label, bring to form, delimit. The sense of joy in knowing the unknown is out there, the thrill of anticipation of something beyond words- the knowledge of being ignorant is bliss.

For words cannot define the moment your puppy pushes his wet nose into your hands. Words cannot define a cuddle that lingers long after.

Words cannot define that sudden jolt of fear when you find him not beside you. Words cannot define the shudder running down your spine.Words cannot define the quiet relief when you see a familiar face in the crowd. Words cannot define the fact that you remember the scent long after they left and no, words cannot define the abyss of longing that follows separation.

But no, it is also not possible to define why man feels hungry. Not for food, but for love. For something that he claims he has found, but lacks the next moment. They cannot define how his heart houses someone one moment, and quite somebody else the next. How his heart refuses to let go of a person long after they’ve transcended through to Elysia. How his heart guards his soul. How his mind is a jail his heart is bound in. How even as his life goes on, his heart stops living.

How his heart breaks into crumbs of nothingness even as it pumps blood.

How love makes life seem like a bag of old leaves waiting to be raked up.

Man is complex, and complex seems to be an underrated word. No we are not defining man, for to put the mass of physical traits and emotional anomalies with its bagful of conflicting emotions and unattainable desires in shapes of ink is sure to be unyielding. Try to define man, and you find volumes of poetry; but try and leave him uninhibited in his space, and you find in his complexity unnerving simplicity. Simple because a smile conveys the tremendous joy that lifts a man to the level of frenzy. Because a tear contains the battered remains of a broken heart. Because a kiss has in it the constrained longing of a besotted soul.

Define not the innocence of first love, define not the trembling shyness of lovers, and define not this world.

Let the bound books, thick and theoretical and imposing intelligence on students still unaffected by the many masks the world wears, abysmal aberrations as they are, not misguide you.

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About meenavid

Pensive thinker. Jumping bean. Loud thoughts. Loudmouth. Extreme. Ordinary. Twenty and something but what the heck, still a kid. Make a happy mess everywhere- or not. Indecisive. You see? Sigh.

Make a mess

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