You and I, too.

It’s so hard.
to live in a world where your heart is hopeful,
where you believe that love and understanding persists.
where a person can live with human virtues and sleep on a soft pillow,
no dreams can interrupt their sleep,
good or bad.
There exists no world where people are aware of themselves,
their actions, and their possibilities.
their hearts clash against hard colours and shine polished of raw strength.
no world exists where these words I just typed would come true.

But the world of now,
the one I have with me now,
the one where I believe I exist and
I am forced to walk on,
is a world of plays.
Shakespeare said ‘all the worlds a stage’,
it is.
it definitely is.
it is a stage where the actors are our consciences and the script is written by fidelity,
but the actors continue to change the dialogue.
the lights are those souls that want to live,
those who fight everyday,
the sound effects are our hearts beating as one to watch the finale,
the turning point where we can believe everything can get better.

The curtain falls,
there is no turning point,
no climax to this world.
there is no end.

No hope gathered,
no applause
no bravado.

This world is one where we are the soil that is toiled by ourselves,
the plants uprooted by our curiousness,
the pain felt by our own words,
the hands that bring our own fear,
we are made of this world as much as it is made of us.

and it is hard to realise this.
but time talks,
and it told me to tell you this,
the world will spin and so will you,
the world will die and so will you,
the world will hope and so will you,

if your world lives,




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