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82 lines
2.5 KiB
Markdown
82 lines
2.5 KiB
Markdown
---
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title: "Deference vs. Indifference"
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date: 2019-03-15T22:27:30+05:30
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categories: ["Poetry"]
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tags: ["poetry", "writing"]
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draft: false
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---
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[(See this picture on Flickr)]
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------------------------------------------------
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## Deference vs. Indifference
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There used to be a time
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when things used to be simple.
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I'd wake up, rub my eyes, sit up straight, close my eyes,
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And pray that He will continue to guide me
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as He had done the previous day.
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There used to be a time
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when I used to love the aroma
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of the stick when it burned,
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lighting up my day with the secret enchantments,
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as if the secrecy itself was the source of my happiness.
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There used to be a time
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when coming home after a bad day,
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I'd sit on my bed and join my hands and close my eyes
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and quietly shed a tear.
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The statues didn't move or speak or whisper,
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but I felt assured that somehow those little stones
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were the only ones who listened to me
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and answered back.
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But now,
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I wake up and lie on my bed for hours,
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watching the fan complete circles after circles after circles,
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as if I was stuck in the middle while everyone else around me
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kept going through life as if it was such an easy task.
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But now,
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The smell of the burning stick nauseates my senses,
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the secret spells make me mad,
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the constant enchantings feel as if someone lit a person on fire
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while they were sleeping.
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But now,
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when I come back home after a bad day,
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to the empty apartment echoing with silence so loud
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I worry my neighbors will start complaining -
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Even crying for hours doesn't help.
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Sometimes I think,
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what use is consciousness
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if it doesn't make you happy but slowly takes away
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whatever little sanity you had left
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second by second.
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Sometimes I worry,
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Did I make a mistake in choosing not to follow blindly?
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Does asking questions that nobody has answers to
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makes me more alive
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or merely leaves me more broken and naive and stupid?
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Is ignorance really bliss?
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I still go to churches and mosques and temples,
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the difference being it was deference before,
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and now it's curiosity about the people who go there
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and indifference to the thing they pray to.
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Sometimes I wonder,
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There really is no answer, is there?
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---------------------------------------
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A poem I wrote when I had troubles accepting myself. Still do, to be honest.
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[(See this picture on Flickr)]: https://www.flickr.com/photos/160696242@N07/46619008205/
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