Searching for Season of Hope
It’s dark already, and I’ve found myself a platform atop terrace. Here I sit alone, like years of past alongside my reveries to express amidst the ennui that comes to haunt me once in a while. I sit alone, searching for reasons. I sit alone, in hope of searching for reasons but will be content if I only find one.
I seek for reasons to continue the struggle of daily life, reasons to amuse myself, reasons to stop smoking and drinking, reasons to search season of hope.
Every day as the sun of discontent rises up, the need to share my life, myself grows stronger than ever. People cry that today they don’t have enough time to be alone, people cry they need some space to breathe. Ask me, I’ve been alone only for some time now. Just 12 years. Yet, I can’t take it anymore. What a disease it is to feel the need to be alone. Nobody wants to be alone, everyone seeks companionship, and when someone whispers from the other side of the door, everyone is afraid to open the door. Time and again and again and again, I’ve found the same companion for my heart. An empty blank page. A blank page which stares me now too but it is there to patiently take it all in when I can’t take it anymore. I want someone to talk to but who comes to rescue – a blank page. Confession – blank pages aren’t a reason enough to continue life. There has to be more. Is this why we were born?
Artists create for themselves and unconsciously there will always be some chuck of human hearts who shall feel that the Art is created only just for them. I’ll let you hear today what shouts does the artistic heart offers. The seek for season of hope when none can be found. People with artistic heart aren’t fortunate enough to carry the burden of someone else’s heart. They are unfortunate that it will always be the heaviness of their heart which crucifies them. Biggest wonder of all is that all of us are artists when we go in a quest to find meaning for existence.
A strange thought occurs often – with all the nature around and with all the enchantment of similar lonely hearts, why do we all need a reason to be alive. Why we feel hopeless when the sea of emotions is so profound and boundless?
We seek respite from our emotions. The heaven’s grace would be that we find someone to share our emotions so that the need to seek respite ceases to exist. Most of us troubled by own forsaken demons seek this respite in our worldly things, all hollow which sooner or later aren’t satisfactory enough to give our heart a reason to beat for one more day. Make no mistake, Art too is one such hollow worldly thing. Anything which sticks to your heart is a hollow worldly thing. Anything of which your heart isn’t afraid of losing is a hollow worldly thing. Another heart which is just as scared as yours, is not a hollow worldly thing. Both hearts beat in the same fear of losing each other. That’s a reason to beat for one day more.
It’s simply not possible to have hope all by yourself or through the hollow worldly things. Only one person is enough to give hope. In our search for season of hope, we search for that person around which all seasons revolve. Not all of us are bestowed with such a person, made solely for our heart, to give us hope.
Often, I feel that is not that difficult to give your life a meaning through the quest of finding hope. But it takes too much courage. Most of us lack that courage. In me that courage is non-existent. And this lack of courage lead to living a life devoid of any happiness. Whatever crosses your path, you try to make meaning out of it, you try to seek a meaning out of it. It’s the birth of all misery. A birth we still must endure. Like all births, this too makes us cry. And cry we must. Why our journey across seasons should be filled with path on which we shed tears like autumn leaves? And shed tears we must. How else can our searching for season of hope be complete?
