A constant unrest of my soul undoes the foundations of my existence as a human being. I wonder why do I have to see myself going all this way far into the unsettling distances of uncertainty. It's been so many years now. When there is calm, I call it peace. It's only to rise again to the depths of another meaning. How many times do I have to unsettle myself? How many times do I have to annihilate my own being just to wake up again to repeat this whole futile exercise?
I am realizing more and more that the charisma of positive hope is somehow escaping the very soul of my writings. I am not able to sustain the energy which can take me over the troubled waters of agony. I stop here. I find that an easier option.
It's a literary text that usually unsettles a reader who takes it seriously. In my case, it is life that does the job. It unsettles me and throws me out of my corner. A sense of wonder fills me, while looking into the abyss of 'non-existence'. Foggy and misty. Invisible if existent, the future is hidden- like every tomorrow.
I am realizing more and more that the charisma of positive hope is somehow escaping the very soul of my writings. I am not able to sustain the energy which can take me over the troubled waters of agony. I stop here. I find that an easier option.
It's a literary text that usually unsettles a reader who takes it seriously. In my case, it is life that does the job. It unsettles me and throws me out of my corner. A sense of wonder fills me, while looking into the abyss of 'non-existence'. Foggy and misty. Invisible if existent, the future is hidden- like every tomorrow.
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