Up on melancholy hill ✎ᝰ

A stranger once asked me “ what is ur curse”?

What is a thing that disorders you so much , it disrupts your sleep at night and wakes you up in cold sweat , a thing which out of nowhere has you in jitters and anxiety?

I said “ I have suffering and disease in my pages. A outmoded concept of torment and scars that bleed leading reality. They say if you do not bleed then you have no worth. Suffering connects all your internal dots.

i have flowers and uprooted pits in my heart , whenever someone plucked a flower from my heart , an empty space of malady was left behind , incurable if the flower withered away.

I have wind in my lungs and yet i feel choked and encumbered. I have everything to have but nothing to hold.

I have desires and dreams , a prodigal feeling of wanting that clogs my veins. However , It is not long before they vanish into the brown dusk of time and the sweet rain of life.

I have passion to do everything that makes life a comforting home but not enough time. Time is a ticking bomb , it goes off and you see everything that makes a person feel alive  , blow up into pieces, a realm beyond the malicious life does not exist for long. We take and hide so much of who we are that in the end , all that is left is someone who we do not recognise.

This is my curse , i can never do everything i want , live the way i want , learn the things i want , read the things i want , because society ,

time and disease perceive it all , they have a firm unbreakable construction of a human stuck in a soulless body.

I do not write with ink , i write with blood , because it is not words that are printed onto a paper , it is emotions and tears.

—-prachi dhawan