Let my muse bless and shower her creativity, let me be the best writer these times have seen.

No this is not what I feel while writing this piece. It’s something which is my deepest desire. I am afraid to let it out in open, for the fear of being mocked at. The worst possible scenario – my creations criticized for being assertive and ostentatious. This fear creeps inside our hearts, housed in the center of our head and thus disrupting our talents.

Man is a lustful being, the greed for undying love, momentary happiness, lifelong laurels and most of all a glorious epitaph. We want us to be celebrated, our being appreciated and our loss remembered. No matter how much a mother loves, a wife cares, a son obeys it’s unconditional on one condition. Of being applauded, reciprocated and respected for what we do.

They say there’s nothing in this world which doesn’t carry a price-tag. All we tag along is this insatiable expectation. Is it right to expect? No matter how much we deny, it still is our most viable reason for doing things.

Who says what we do is destined, it is we who really want it to happen. It’s our centric reflection of future. Our prophecies are mere mouth-pieces of the optimism/pessimism that inhabit within us. Our sanguinity changes with our situation, support system, willingness and our desires. On the other hand we become cynics far more quickly and this change of attitude jeopardizes our approach leaving a trace of depressing vagueness.

How many times have you enjoyed the leisurely depression, thriving in the stagnant ignorance? Waiting for a wave to pick you up, a hand to hold you and pull you towards reality. Here too we feed our lust for sympathy, support and charity.

The clock will strike, the clouds shall pass, the light would break through and then we would realize we, only WE remain the daemons shan’t survive.

Mansi Raj Singh