Broken Scribbles

Write all your broken scribbles and they’ll knit a story, one you can’t read just yet but as they come to life, they will free your soul of all the demons that haunt your soul. After all, what better way can you let go of your fears than to mirror them before your heart.
Cocooned in a loved that died upon your birth, you replaced your desperate call for warmth with the chase for the world. “You are a dreamer, but so were they. The only difference made was when they called theirs your own.” Blessed you were, for someone once in archaic shadows loved you with all her heart, as she held you in her arms. Her lullaby sweeter than the frugal lark that sells you, your nightly solace.
Yet happiness is as fickle as the hatred, you often felt in your childish innocence.
But they were dreamers, the ones who controlled your destiny or at least you thought they did. So you blamed them when your soul lay shattered by that first blow. A wound you forgot for its pain would’ve killed you, but its scars are still there, as fresh as the breath that keeps you alive. It was a necessary sin after all, ’cause even though pain demands to be felt, some wounds need more time than others, but maybe some are too deep to heal and as you let time heal them, they never do. They simply transcend from sorrow to your second shadow, one you only see in ravenous despair. Before your innocence was marred, you were happy with the cage that glittered with new adventures, as you glorified it with your own curiosity. Yet you don’t remember living in that cage, do you ? even as you died each day in it and that alone was your gravest folly.‘Cause now you do remember the who’es but you’ll never know the how’es and the why’es.

Doesn’t it haunt you that such a long time, one that forces you to write this confession, is as oblivious as the dreams you’ve dreamt every night but naturally die with the awakened eyes? Do you ever wonder how immense the depth of those sorrows must be that your heart involuntarily chose to bury so you could live? Do you ever wonder about that demon, one who robbed you of peace? You fear that there are more victims of that beast and beg providence to end his “little game”, one that robs innocent lives of their playful childhood. You begged them too, didn’t you? Just how you now beg providence now, but they didn’t listen or at least they said they did. Maybe heavens will have more truth in its silence.
They changed your cage, told you it happens and you believed them.You started again, curiosity yet again your companion, but someone was with her, they both hated each other but couldn’t be separated anymore. Hence ever since, curiosity kept you alive and darkness killed you each day. But you met the stars again, those long forgotten friends who once looked too royal for you to talk to them, so you alone adored. Now you were more shameless after all, your soul begged to be naked in front of someone, and stars alone smiled at its scars. You talked them of the most frivolous things, your day, the boy you fancied or the one who offends your uncooked morals. You cried to them of your loneliness, how you miss the dreamers, that ancient love that played with you in your nascency. You would bid them “goodnight” and they would simply smile, amused at your naivety as though saying, “Sweet Child, see us always as your friends and not as stars who can never sleep, for your faith alone gives us that sacred repose that universe has forbids us from.” Yet you did, you ate the forbidden apple of wisdom and you knew the lie or the truth the heavens have tricked them in.

You wonder if they are angry with you, but when you see them smile through their twinkle you choose to believe what you want. You say, they are the divine truth, the truly wise who forgive thee of the sins you can’t evade, like that of knowledge.Though they know you are only a fool to replace the sacred knowledge of childhood with the doomed farce of adulthood, a tragedy man called wisdom. You choose to believe that they’ve forgiven you for forgetting them, for seeing them as rocks made up of gas and not as those friends who talked through their light. “You are forgiven, my child as long as you see life in us”, they seem to say.

It was in those days that you had first written your broken scribbles, or maybe not. Yes! I remember, your first letter , written when the wolf has ripped your skin, you wrote of its heinous smile, his tricky way and its loathsome claws that stained your polka-dot frock. But you didn’t write of the wolf again until your hands forced you to and you wrote of his nasty den, the “games” he would play with you but you hid those letters until they found them. Their eyebrows knitted in worries, mostly about you but not you. They feared that your voice would be the very end of you, your prestige, everyone would know you are yet another victim to the well-known wolf and then you wouldn’t be the accolade that until now has adorned their status. You killed your voice as they did the same to your letters. But “past” is a sacred thing, a providence’s design backed by fate and time and the more you offend it with your ignorance, the more brutal his attacks are on your present.

Luckily, you kept writing your past in secret and it healed you in its shadow but life is ignorant of your past, it has its own games waiting for you to lose at, win you may some but the victory still awaits in distance. It calls out to you through the horizon you yet can’t see. You surely would have forgotten the language of the universe just like most do as society replaces it with their own but you were blessed with heart wrenching sorrows that always kept it alive, whenever you ran back to the stars.

You’ve lived the faulty human live, feeding mirages, glorifying vanity in aggrandized charity. You gave some happiness, yet robbed more from the same, broke hearts, the way, yours was broken, chose drunken passion over friendship, grooved to the songs of evil and turned a deaf ear to the piercing cries of compassion, solely because the former could easily be blamed. You’ve lived a human life but a version you think humans should but today things have changed, just like they did a while back.
You are weaker but for good, the past is happier with you for embracing its thorns with gratitude, and it rewards you with a little strength each day, to pen new and piece again those dusty broken scribbles.


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