I live among the dead, yes I do. I walk out of my home and I find dead people walking on a motorized conveyor belt inside a room which was designed to train the human body, I walk out of that room and I find dead people walking on the streets, their faces filled with misery and a deep frown that doesn’t shy to reflect upon itself even when they are subjected to the best dank humor on the internet.
All of them had a ‘Plan A’ when they were kids, ah kids, yes that is when they did not have that misery and that jinxed frown upon their face even when they could not find two square meals and had to share a room with six other people, they all seemed to smile and lived carefree, but now they have what they define as money, but it is a mere tool, invented by the masters who had a vision and could relate to the fact that a rat and a man can both keep running mindlessly if a piece of ‘carrot is kept in front of them, maybe that is how they even coined it a rat race signifying the utter ignorance of man to run perpetually without using an iota of his mental faculties which is his greatest gift.
Now the people whose ‘run-of-the-mill’ life is almost over are often found reflecting upon their blunders as they mindlessly stroll towards their old ‘destination’ today like every other day. While they ponder upon their past, it screams to them that with each step forward they are going many miles backward on their original dream, their sole dream to live a happy life, to fulfill their aspirations and not someone’s targets to sell crap to the dead people who buy crap.
Happiness seems to be a fairy tale to those walking among the dead. Most of them lost their selves long ago, now they have their mirror image meticulously curated to satisfy their bosses. They seem to keep that facade so that their mouths are full and they have a bed to sleep which they find in a place that they term as their home. A home that was supposed to be a holy abode where one could step into and leave their stress behind and live carelessly has become a burden under their enormous EMIs which seem to run forever, sometimes even when the dead are also dead. Gone are those days when they could dance to the tunes of raindrops now they dance to the tunes of their misery, one which is maybe a self-created one.
My heart races and sweat beads form on my forehead when I walk among the dead fearing to be an empty shell of a man, chasing a golden cage, but forgetting that at the end, it's still a cage, ornamental but incarcerating.
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