I speak of life as an art
Why was I thrown into this wonderland?
Before I am
I never knew of life
I was not consulted for my being
I am here to play this
Meaningless puzzle squeezed
Between birth and death
And, listen to a melancholic song written inside me
Against the weight of world
As apes with reasoning brains
Humans have found signifiers and meanings
You are supposed to romp through signposts
Earning, family, schooling, marriage, mating
And, that’s what they call living
Take a trail been laid down
Follow the pattern
You have a burden to carry on
Why does everything end up as social media content?
Is life fashion, fad, or a lousy trend?
When living becomes
Uploading and updating
Commenting and sharing
Art of living is for others to see
What if others fail to observe?
A constant dread of being unrecognized
Life is up and down
Something that was high can make you feel low
I can’t observe myself
I am what others have witnessed of me
Art of living is in between what I hide and reveal
My selective amnesia and remembered memories
A constant fear of being recognized completely
Life never lets you complete happiness
For so many things you have gained
Life creates holes to pull you down
Life adds one limitation after another
Is everything preplanned and determined already?
Do I need what I really want?
Art of living wedged between freedom and responsibilities
Don’t get sucked into THE art of living
You can follow, discover or create your own meaning
Any way you like to shuffle your life
No need for justification
Be selfish, self-sufficient, and self-resilient as you like
But always feel free to change your thought and direction
Overcome your frame of reference
And see the sunshine behind your shadows
Sense the emptiness so wide, the strangeness of reality
When stabilizing assumptions crumble down
Life is more absurd and crazy than you think
Why do you have to sit on that chair all-day
Are you strapped and caged
Let some madness creep in your head
Live like breathe in the body, blood in the nerves
Search for stillness in revolving wheels
Smell the ashes after the fire has gone out
Indeed every day everything will be finished
I can paint
And, think of life as an abstract art
Mere interpretation than what really is
But I have no answer to this riddle of life
What’s yours?
~ Gaurav Ojha
Kathmandu, Nepal