Life is a stage where we are all mere actors– good performers, bad players; mediocre, modest, tolerable…

The truth lies in the untold stories of tears and the sound of the loud laughter that shattered the silent nights of winters and in how the weary became more tired of the continuous and tiresome acting… What disturbs the sleepless nights, however, is not just the roar of the thunders, but the scream of the blunders that fearlessly frighten the inner soul whatsoever!

The truth lies in the monotonous life we live and the ragged sheets we try to sew. The decomposing corpse has more stories to say than the warm blood, which has more to hide than to show. A human being is a closed book of secrets, perhaps with an eternal lock on it. No one ever has the key to it, whatever they try to do. Ironically the book itself does not want to go back to the pages once turned – “no looking back” – it reads… Irony indeed!

The sound of the metals clashing against each other inside the brain fixes most of the trouble. The soothing pain in the heart so deep can bring tears from the eyes that fumble. This is a process I never understood. There is pain everywhere. The smiles and the joy fade with time. So do the tears: but why do the smiles fade faster?

Music calms the soul – so does alcohol – bitter truths make fairytales and ugly lies, a life…

Let us not make conclusions because life is a magical mystery box – full of surprises – from rags to riches, from heights to nothing – from this to that, from here to there! We never know! We should never perhaps! It is supposed to be a surprise!

Perhaps, life is a trampoline with beads scattered all around, taking us so far into a world of poise and warmth, ice and fire, good and the bad… Perhaps, life is more than what it may look like.

Perhaps, there is more to the story…


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