looking up from a well,
for help, you yell.
but they glance and turn away.
laughter and smiles abound,
in pain you’re bound.
their joy is all but betray.
Life hasn’t been kind. But it hadn’t promised it ever would be. So why should anyone hold such expectations?
A slew of difficult situations have deprived me of decent sleep and the time to write. I began to contemplate how life is presented from the perspective of the ‘victors’ – those who have not been hindered; those who have not faltered; those have had a smooth-sailing journey. Social norms dictate our actions; public opinion weighs more than personal choice. Yet when you’re stuck in a rut, which of these voices shall be responsible for your fate?
The feeling was like being stuck in a well and which had walls pressing in. The fear of losing those we care was enough to crush a soul. In desperation, calls for help were greeted with disappointment. I wondered how people could take, but never give; how they could share your laughter, but never your sorrows.
Maybe as George Carlin puts it, “Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist”. Who is to blame then, but the faith we had once put in Man?