Words

Words play a chisel or the wall, on the might and whim of the mind.

In the dash to glory, selfish and elusive material goals, and simply to rush, we overtake, push through and at times climb over those who in the lousiest of terms can be called fellow humans. Being fair to myself, they would try to play me the same way I did in their own track, but the lingering question is not about who tops over who, but of an ethical nature.

Facing a bunch of back of heads, palms, deadlines, and whinings daily tend to make us impervious to the more living aspects of our vicinity. I don't bring coffee to those because I missed my tea. I don't call them because I couldn't make time enough to throw pleasantries, out of my worthless schedule. We just talk, don't listen. We don't understand or empathise, just pull out a mask from the bag we carry every day stepping out of the house. We overlook the simple analogies in our lives and yet believe rather hope, for somebody to realise the same.

There lives a child, deep within the layers, looking for genuine pleasures, a son, pampered and adored, a brother never alone, and all seen is a shell, of the man desperately hiding the inner folds in case he may stumble over, making a mockery of himself.

And yet, you ask what few words could do.

Words play a chisel or the wall, on the might and whim of the mind, how you mould these walls is up to you. How you break through the barrier between fellow fighters is up to you.

Since everyone is in a war of their own, the ground rule to follow must be

"NO STRAGGLERS" "NO ONE LEFT BEHIND".