The Narrative of My Existential Being
The question of existence still haunts me in the silence of the stillness that loneliness brings with it. To be or not to be, to exist in the coexistence of dualistic forces, to dance with the uncertainty or to play it along the periphery, what I hold certain, has always questioned me, bemoaned me. Truth be told, I beheld the cry for help when its absence called in silent whispers around the blanket of dwelling and absconded its abundant presence over me. There is a painting that traces the bits of serenity in my life, the colors that adorn the hues of the almighty run deep through the veins of my soul to find the brevity of pain. I glance at the picture of Lord Krishna, reminiscing the days that passed by. Darkness sets its sterility in the brimming light of today, as the dawn of today paints itself in the colors of the dusk of yesterday.