The ones that love us,
The ones that make us,
Don’t we believe that souls might be Gods?
Probably just a version of a God?
It’s quite bizarre how —
We only feel loved by Him
When it does the same —
Be it like a drop or an ocean.
What are souls?
Maybe the ones that haunt us,
The ones that console us,
And yet the ones that live for us.
Are we ever alone?
I think not.
Certainly not.
Well, why? Well, souls.
Your soul, my soul,
I’m always alone,
And yet I never am —
Accompanied by my soul.
Learn to live with it —
Learn to live with yourself,
For you’re never alone —
Thanks to your soul.
You talk to it,
I laugh at it,
I also blame it,
As you probably do too.
However a soul,
As pure as a child,
And as yin as the yang,
Always is with me.
This is not a poem, but just a few lines in the rare moment of late night when I found myself awake. There are so many questions left unanswered — out of which the soul and mind might be my favourite questions within themselves.
Neither can we see them, not can we deny their presence. They’re probably the writers of our stories — of all of our individual stories.
— Muskaan Darshan