Small transient moments of joy,
Blanketed by the envelopes of sorrow,
With contempt on every crevasse, under every stone.
Live life as thus,
The Grand Delusion;
A mist of illusion,
Of a life well-lived.
Nothing “special”, nothing “unique”
Everything “special”, Everything “unique”,
The thick flaps of mediocrity overcomes us all,
All of us mere embers in a large fire: meaningless.
The joy of an observer,
The curse of a thinker,
The comfort of the subject.
The friend of the mediocre.
I go on, soldier on, survive on, alive, breathing,
On this lonely torturous little place.
Anticipation for rays of joy keep me going,
Through this thick forest of deceptive moments,
And cruel sorrows.
1st March, 2020