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What is Reality?

The urges grow, fiery need to be accepted into the society, that is, but a tape playing over and over again. It’s as if everything had to be this, and any external thought shall be a disregard. Humans have evolved through the dynamics printed unto, the fabric of this society as it found new pieces of knowledge. Everything looks harmonious if it’s about following the already set standards by the society.

But just as we try to define how something is to be done, or how an ant moves, there is a bigger variable in question. Is any of it even real?

The questions perplex the already occupied and the melancholic state of things, and the majorly absent vibe from other humans is what makes it worse. A leopard would see things so differently compared to us and in the stance—that is the only reality for the leopard or any other species in general. We form the alternative reality for them, in which the role that is to be played is that of only a minor character.    

And in their reality of things, we may not even exist depending on the geographical location we are in. Yet we still lie here, flying with the so called notion of ‘superiority’ vested unto us. For the mind to absorb everything that is not real, one has to have a slightly impatient attitude towards life.

For breathing and merry is just a temporary attraction, but the laws of abstraction is as definitive as the Milky Way. One is which, a different set of laws govern the planets and all other physical attributes. Now that our reality is so different from theirs, why do we ardently stick to the idea of this ‘superficial attire’ with us?

Maybe it’s the conditional variable, one which directs us to be an ‘easy song’ to the everyday life, rather than be a defining lyrics in the most compelling fashion. Everything would have been explored, but the self that is bound to be an unreal thing out of nothing.

Humans perceive reality so differently that many do not even care, or ask of the fabrics to listen. For all that is known, the pain that always feels so real, but never is. The mind which wants to, circuiting it to the entire body like it were the only thing it was designed to undertake.

There is so much chaos that is entirety, we lose even if we feel like we are winning. It’s the game, one that has been playing with us for a long time—whose parameters don’t conform to our understanding. And everything around us—the luxurious sofa, pitiless butterflies, enigmatic sex scene and the colored bedroom, all but a lie in its purest state.

The only reality that is pertinent, is the mind that is not even real. We have been made into believing things that aren’t even going to make sense if the circumstances were different. Imagine colonizing Mars, and seeing the shift in the ‘needs’ and ‘wants’ attributes now.

-Yogesh Chandra

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I’m only Human

I walked past the lamppost, trembling uncontrollably, trying to search for a meaning. Scathing with my own existence, I felt a little err trying to get ahold of me. It was as if I had seen this coming, and still—to my surprise, I turned and looked at myself walking away from me.

I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and now that it strikes, like the edges of sliced ice—there is no escape. To think that I’m going to leave this arena, never to return—shivers surround but the feeling is no longer appealing. Old frames placed at each step forward, I can no longer fight it.

Maybe I was meant to be like this, even at times when I was supposed to be happy, which was never meant to. These carefree mistakes, who would have known that it’d end like this. A pause in the unwavering tracks, my pulse shakes and it asks of me, to stop walking like I had to all this while.

People say that I’m weak, but what’s left that’ll even make me smile? Doors to connectedness, rain and storm that is but a gift. I could never grasp, this thing called life, and for me to have been playing it like it was a curse.

Each breath will have been mimicked, the rainbows fabricated and the happiness factor overly rated. In this life, nobody ever smiles and those who do are just pretending. Yet I continue to get marveled by the slightest of the changes, the shift in the cosmos that is, but the mind.

I lost myself trying to save me. Maybe it had to be, now that everybody is playing like an endless tape. Doing things that we do every day, narrating the same lines over and over again.  

No better regret than life, for the wise know that it had to be this way. Such sincere are the winds that always talk about me, making me feel that I still exist. I don’t mind their vocabulary being surrounded by words such as melancholia, grief and desperation. Even they feel a little pity for me each time I pass by.

Anyways, I shan’t talk more about me, but pour the expression that many of you may be battling with as well. Should we give up?

Look around the corners and see that nobody even hears you, and I will not say a thing but see me dissolve at the heart of this wretchedness. Maybe I’d be glad that everything was well utilized, each second cared for and perfected with the utmost fall.

It does not hurt, but the feeling that is aching. No one to share, and life will only be beautiful tomorrow, lucky will be those who will be able to see it.

Such unfortunate for the other half that feel nothing but waves of destruction, overpowering any hope or affection that may have been left. This human form of existence, it was never any better.

-Yogesh Chandra

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Writing and Rainbows—Why do I Write Everyday?

The splendor, in each word that flows out of the mind like molten magma—and the unattended room that is, for words to overwhelm like there is no tomorrow. The world is a chaotic place to be, and it becomes tougher for minds trying to seek solace in each craft that is.

We have been brought up into the fashion of the non-existent variable—that is to graduate, start earning and capitalize on the future that is never on our side. And of the world that no longer listens, the estranged lyricist who tries to sell his art, at the epitome of his life—but the value that we place, if it’s even appreciated.

But I write, with all that my mind has to offer, and as each day draws closer to the next—there is but a selective yearning—one that questions the authority of this life—if there is anything even attached to it. I try to wake my mind, with only so much that I can absorb, the parameters get well ahead of me every time I try to explore.

This life, and for me to express—such interdependence that I could never imagine anything else. It’s as if I were compelled to write, the inner satisfaction that crowds the mind. But of all—I would start thinking that I haven’t done anything at all if I were to stop writing for a week. The guilt that boils, for the mind has to express, and in each rhythm that is yet to be traveled.

I write to heal—from everything that is not. Such strange world centered on those who could express—what else could one even ask for?

Everything beautiful fades, but art—ones that need no justification. I always try to—for life doesn’t get any fairer to me as each day progresses, and to write, of all that is revolving inside my mind. The phases of misery teach us a lot, and I—there is no such day that did not.  

And it doesn’t even seem to be stopping for me. The journals that I ensure—for it to document how I feel each day—things that tomorrow will be a mystery. I find the comfort that we so closely try to find in others—but within me, the mind that wants to write.

I still remember, my first diary—and the inscription on it that defined my delicate hours. Perhaps those were the days—that would give birth to my own world, ones in which daylight is but a chartered territory—and the night is what mattered most.

I couldn’t imagine life without it, for the joy is always greater than each episode of melancholia or what of my life if it’s not writing. Every image that I see, or the new paint on top of the three storied building—I will have to express, and the ones that even break me—for it to be defined into words that will last.

I have always felt that there was a greater calling—but each new day—I can’t stand up to all that so casually sweeps away the society. For life is not a thing—and everything is but a chance to write.

-Yogesh Chandra

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To my Dearest Friend, Kavith

It’s been a long day, and the lavender to one’s joy—a soul that has the world to offer, yet constrained with time and other things. I have known you, (Kavith and to the world, ‘kaka’) for a long time, yet feel that I do not know anything.

It is as if my heart were a plastic coated attire, but a gemstone to you—in the dimmest of my days and the fiercest of my nights. You stood only a feet away from me—2013 it was and that is when I started walking, so much for the little mind to comprehend.

Times get intentionally tough, and the flowers start gossiping about our fall—autumn that never reciprocates or what is joy if it isn’t your presence. You shine today, above all the pigeons that doubted on you, and with the tenderest of your touch, you fill everyone’s mind with such positive vibes.

I still remember the conversation we had, a night before I was about to leave—and with so much comfort, eyes could barely feel or skin that always melts. And you waited patiently, counting the stars over the endless sky and calling me, texting me like the only person who cared for me.

“Is everything alright Yogesh?”

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“Please talk to me!”

And I knew right away, for nobody ever cared for me like you did. There is no one who knows me for who I am, but you—playing with the fires yet painting it with silver coating of happiness to my life every single time.

And today, I know that we are both fighting with our lives, this gift that no longer shines—tides that no longer wait. Times are tough, and so is the will to live. I still remember, the room filled with estranged people, and everyone who had all hopes on you. With just a glitter of charisma, everyone smiled and you are the sole reason behind that, please know that.

Words don’t reach, but the thought that you have always stood beside me when no one did. It’s the greatest epiphany of life, in conquering everything that is not, but a friend who never leaves. I once thought that the stars were the most attractive, but your soul which is placidly appealing—shaking mountains and building bridges to new breaths.

And as we walk the tragic mile, I have but a thought—for the world will be yours today and tomorrow, and every book will have been read, in this endless loop of time and tide—but never a friend like you who cared so much.

You are a true friend, forever will be one. Best wishes in everything that life presents you with tomorrow. And continue making people smile, it’s the one therapy that we all lack.

-Yogesh Chandra

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Souls at Rest in the New Zealand Shooting Tragedy—Prayers and the Process of Healing

At the hour when one was submitted to God, sincere souls acquiesced into praying—tragedy struck and took 50 lives in just a splash. It is so heartbreaking to even think about it, let alone see it transcending into a worldwide phenomenon as each second unfolded.

And what is left of it—families struck with unconditional pain, ones that no one ever talked about or even lit a lamp as a cushion. This is one of the darkest days for New Zealand, and most agonizing for the families that have to succumb to the reality.

A major disbelief in part of humanity—how could anyone just even think about doing this? We have always been lead into believing that joy was in submission, but what of life—the curator that is most profound, above the tides that are nearly as invincible as ourselves.

The world mourns today, and I too, there is but an inch of life left in me which will tell me that everything is real. But what is it that will define tomorrow, in the persuasion of living and coming into terms of the disaster that has outplayed nature.

It is the process of healing that will build hearts and throw the ravens unto the ashes of consummation. Someone’s father, mother—someone’s son, daughter—a friend, mentor, and hope tomorrow. But tomorrow is already defined, so today, let us hold each other’s hands and walk like we are stronger than we think we are.

It is the art in healing that will move mountains, and get us closer to the composure of our own compulsions—ones that are imperative in taking the bravest of the steps forward. And grief will pour like melted cement, roofs will leak acidic rain and food will not shower any taste—for the beauty in living will have gone.

But to you, everyone who is in pain right now—know that life will not, never will it outplay you—it is the dimmest of the days that define and paint the purest of strength that one could feel, and in getting yourself up from the spiral of dead ends that seems to be consuming you at this hour.

So get yourself up, and feel the cosmological narrative that binds everyone together—our brothers and sisters—they too are attached to us, in the most splendor ways that we just cannot see or feel. Their beautiful souls are gone, but their imprints are a treasure—no one could take that away.

There is a beautiful gift, to play their memories back and forth and realize that they too—their souls are at peace. Angelic voices at night, feeling the essence of life, and everyone who is struck with overwhelming grief—know that life will only dramatize itself. So let’s hold us together—the process of healing is as definitive as the last star which sees over us, yet we sit here, unaltered by its presence.

To everyone who lost their lives in the tragedy, may your souls rest in peace.

-Yogesh Chandra  

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My heart goes out to everyone affected by the New Zealand massacre.

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Contemplating Life and Its Tragedies with my Childhood Friend Wazid-FIJI

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The Splendour behind Writing on Controversial Subjects

Controversy is beautiful, at least in deciphering the elegant truth that is revolving so clearly yet stagnantly, coerced by the ignorance of knowledge in this society. There are a range of topics, and the further ones scope to scrutinize and evaluate things from a different perspective—the greater the joy in knowing.

We live in times where openness to new information is key, a driver to connectedness to the reality that surrounds us every time we breathe or even think of breathing. In the quest to understand better, there are some elemental parts of this art that one needs to master.

A major part of this includes the ‘uncompromising’ jargon that should be taken into consideration at all times. For religion, sex, politics and profanity—during each winter when the ideas turn into a mortal need to blend in. It’s the one thing that addresses our need to adapt to the surrounding, and if not followed, it may result in a serious detachment from the society.

From the single idea of Galileo that questioned thousands of years of myth that the sun revolved around the earth—to the daring thought of Richard Dawkins on atheism, there is a certain connotation being continually attached to thinking in a way that is different.

The elite of the society always want us to think only in a certain way, and any outside interference may result in severe repercussions. There is a societal law, and nothing of the freethinking could tackle it—at least that’s what everyone wants us to believe in.

But the creators of any law, or an act to suppress us—know that anything can be changed with the accommodation of new knowledge. Unlike religion—science and skepticism go hand in hand, and every time a vase drops or a ‘magic’ happens—one tries to question the very thing that lead to it.

It is always appealing, for thousands of possibilities open up in a single stance, and one is driven towards mastering the one explanation that fits us best. To say that every politician, or a doctor or a pilot is there for ‘paper’, and everything else to them is just a disregard—well one needs to examine the neuro-chemistry of the subject, one that will give us concrete answers.

A selective charm exists, and for humans to transcend into a different reality—one continually needs to examine the evidence’s before taking an assertion as the ‘only truth’ that there may be. And for the so called ‘magic’ to be debunked, one needs to be critical of everything, and every one making that call. Many at times, things may just be for a political, or a commercial gain.

Now that Prozac would suddenly make oneself happy, it’s the idea compounded to the naivety in the 1000 year old view that being sad was a ‘punishment by the gods’. There is nothing but a fairy tale of lies, and in each craft that looks so beautiful—only at the onset of controversial ideas would make it more balanced.

-Yogesh Chandra

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‘To be or not to be’—The Echoing Voice of Shakespeare

The compulsion to die, yet be at ease with the overwhelming surrounding, and to dress up a smile like everyone is watching. There is an entirety of misconception into the expanding world of literature—those that limit a person’s ability to talk of love, and sex and death like it’s a taboo—yet we sit here, trying arduously, recklessly fighting for our lives each day.

William Shakespeare, in his classic ‘Hamlet’ and undeniably the most impervious line in literature, poses a direct question to the entire race of human beings. Whether “tis nobler in the mind to suffer” or sleep like an inauthentic dweller—most of which, crafted by our own impulses in this overly irrational soil.

To slice an inch of the darkest and the ruins of each melancholic mind—one has to have experienced a phase of misery, like it’s our only option here. “tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d”—for each mind that ever lived, and for the race to come to a realization that nothing is well, one has to have a sense of satisfaction that shall end it all.

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil”—only when longing turns into a pointless tragedy but in this life and the next—no one ever listens and each self-infliction is brought into conceptuality like it’s a fancy thing. The progressive life demands of us so little—yet the wings of our own conviction walk against us.

And Shakespeare knows, that beauty in dying shall not hurt—“Must give us pause, there’s the respect”, even if one is left dancing at his own funeral—no matter if your lover didn’t show up, “The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay”.

In playing his character, Hamlet sees and knows that certainty is always exaggerated, and one does not know what death shall perchance even if the torments of this causal life end. There has been, for the cause is always a determinant of one’s judgment. But why does one, or what is the meaning of death if it’s meant to hold any further recitals.

In questioning the splendor of such art—it is as if one were programmed to juggle with a rope with both ends on fire. “No traveler returns, puzzles the will”, a retrospective insight into what the mind already knows—yet the questions that want to find a resolution.

When examining one’s own thoughts, there is a different, one that is inwardly drawn at the peak of a specific moment, that if fulfilled, the stars ought to align and the reindeer’s should not whisper. But the last talk, within the boundaries of one’s skin, and to think like nothing would matter tomorrow.

The words which flow and the actions that partake—there is no correlation but a mutually agreed upon tense. A person, feeling the density of this soil would have so little time to think, but to act will transcend a thought into one’s final seconds. And Shakespeare, in the coil of his words, we learn that a conversation with oneself (illustrious soliloquy by Hamlet) shall prove imperious, in order, or at least if the circumstances point us towards that—to live and be at control for once at least.       

-Yogesh Chandra

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Painting The Subtle Art of Expression--Van Gough (FIJI)-Why I Love Paint...

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Confessions of an Atheist—What Does it Take to be a Non-Believer?

We haven’t got a home, but a hut made of impaired thoughts that continue to enslave us each day. As I try to write, my mind cannot stop thinking—of all that the society has become today. And my heart has been left under the dense shade, acting like it is freed but it’s not.

To be a non-believer in this overly sadistic soil, one has to learn to dance under the storm and still be at ease with the complexities of the arena. Why is it that one is compelled into believing that an intelligent being exists—one who watches over us at the set of each dawn.

I too, as time got adapted to my imaginations—part of me knew that I had to stand up for what I thought was right for me. And to follow the path of atheism, very few have been able to walk the talk. It is as if we are inclined to conform right from the second we are born.

But why do millions rely on something that is only as amazing as one of Shakespeare’s plays. The answer lies in the upbringing of a child—one who is fed with fairy tales, if not followed—he shall be exiled or be thrown into the fires of ‘hell’. I don’t know, but many have written before me, and persecuted for standing up against the tyranny.

Things happen around us, and yet we fail to understand that there is rationality and logic behind everything. Some see white light, or even a flying ‘spirit’—and spontaneously utter that it is an act of the intelligent being. But have we ever stepped back and thought of things from a scientific perspective. There is no such thing as magic, or what is a ‘GOD’ when everything can be defined.

I’m a very strong critique, and know that there shan’t be a designer who hides himself every single day. Or see the poor starve and fill the already torn pockets of the elite with silver coins. There has been so much chaos in the name of religion that if one were to entirely eliminate the concept—the world would be a far better place for everyone to breathe in.

Everyone needs something to lean on—and that is the entirety of things, the definition of religion. To give us hope that will never be true. But truth be told, there isn’t a thing out of nothing—but logic that outstands. The idea of praying—and let’s look at sixty people applying for a job interview. Only 30 will be selected and the priest asks for all of them to pray and that ‘GOD’ would do wonders for him or her.

But when the results pour—why is it that your ‘GOD’ will only favor the 30 out of the 60. Perhaps he doesn’t love the rest or is just as naïve as our reliance on him. It’s difficult to stand out is this soil, just because one is an atheist, but one’s mind is beyond comprehension, and that is what defines one from the rest.

Let me write a little, a soak blood unto the thin cotton. No, it’s not ‘God’ directing me, but the neuro-chemistry that has me walking. Everything is as simple as paper, but look at the heads of each faith—capitalizing on such imprudent concepts. If one non-conforms, he is thrown outside the parameters of this society.

-Yogesh Chandra

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The Rationale Behind Not Giving a Fu*k About Anything

I still don’t get why everyone starts to bother the kid at the end of the depressed street, or throw paint on top of the artist who only wished to express his emotions—and if things aren’t settled enough, they will make you walk their walk and be in the angst of their own defeat.

Trembling for the last three hours, there is no one to comfort him—or what is even a human programmed to do. The songs written such elegantly, they will throw it for the vultures to feed, and label him as the outcast of this ‘special land’—at least that’s what they are compelled into believing.

But have you ever thought that, out of all the calamities around you—the kid still manages to get up and walk for a few more miles before breaking down and crying behind closed doors. There is no such thing as a good human, and all that is—imaginary curtains acting like they will protect everyone.

But what if I say that those who suffer—their beauty is incomprehensible. The casual mind is just unable to absorb and that is why they bring blinded daggers to strike you with. I too, as time passed by such uncontrollably—the stars once told me to leave the steps behind if one was always dragging you behind.

So I started walking, talking to my imaginations as if no one existed. And in the midst of chaos, one finds the colors of this malevolent soil—which still is not as bad as one thinks it may be. I have learnt to walk away, unto the rhythms of concrete isolation when even my own pulses start racing against me.

So what if you are still unemployed, living with your parents and under the influence of societal expectations. Life is too short to be thinking about the small things that will not even matter tomorrow. Today is a grand chance to dance, and be at ease with the splendid surrounding.

The on-goer will continuously utter, but his breath has already been infected—trying to bring you down with him. And why is it that I care so much about what he says. Perhaps it is because of the psychology our own minds—that we just cannot deal with such acts of the upper kind.

And to you my love, all that I have learnt all this while is that nobody will stand by you when the world starts falling, but the epiphany of one’s art and imaginations. So why bother, or even look at the authoritarian who so craftily tries to bring you down.

It’s a battle, because they too are fighting for acceptance and of control over the silent yet brilliant elites of the society. There is no one out there who can break you, but yourself—who has always been at the epicenter of this bloody game.

Walk to the left if you see the forger trying to blind you from the right—and don’t even listen to the already mute ‘star’ who thinks he owns the world. In the midst of this life—there is no better expression that not giving a fu*k about anything or anyone.

-Yogesh Chandra

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Leaving Toxicity Behind—A Free Spirited Birth

Ever stumbled upon a live wire, with its tail trying to hold you—acting like everything is alright yet nothing is. The world is a strange place to be, and it becomes tougher for minds that want to escape the construct of each aroma. There are a series of events, ones that will lead us closer to the shatter of our own dreams.

In my quest to understand life, I first have to free myself from the obscene paintings that want to have me drowned.  Nobody would better understand than the inner scent—without the fear of being judged or placed in an asylum. It’s the idea of finding one’s own skin to live under and to be at contempt with everyday thinking.

People are so beautiful, but not all are. There are limitations—in this broadly filtered landscape, there is no denial of control over a thing or a body. I have always loved the free spirited humans, disregard to the tides of Tuesday or the tyranny of March. “Walk like this and not like that”, but some continuously utter. And when you are inside you own space, they will ask of you to undress and be at ease, “like everyone else does”, so as they say.

But the captivity of ones imaginations—how can you even comprehend, O human. There is nowhere to run when we are all running away from ourselves. Every day, when the authoritarian screams and does not stop, it’s like you are placed inside a train that will lead you to nowhere.

I have come to know, without any metaphors or abstraction—that no matter how much we try to please everyone else, the gap gets creatively larger. “Have you not heard what I just said,” they will continue. And phrases will get archaic to you just like everyone else did.

And the voice, a vice and unpleasant singing of the arrogant. Just leave when the air around you is thick, never to return to the land which made you want to destroy yourself. To let go, and stand up for yourself just for a single moment in life—it’s the beauty which every man craved for yet blinded by paper.

What is life to you if it’s staying around a human who has no regard to your essentialities? And to fathom the act that dissolves you psychologically each day, there is no time on earth for such petty acts. In-fact, to undress and just leave, I know it gets hard in this self-interested land, but wait for the call, a yearning which will take us to the stars of daylight.

I don’t understand, but I do—because everyone is always after someone or something, and will not stop till the chords break and the guitar exaggerates. Now that you realize, you should have left in the first place, asking of nothing but your own company.

So let’s walk, and be freed from the overwhelming nation of control freaks, pardon our faith in humanity because these creatures know nothing of it. And as we run, let us forget not—we too are members of this creative race, no one deserves to be treated with inferiority.

 -Yogesh Chandra

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Perhaps--

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Is it true hashtag#poetry hashtag#emotions hashtag#meltingheart hashtag#literature