Increasingly tired of the routine of daily life that presents itself as life. A futile endavour to prove everyone something we have not managed to prove ourselves. Maybe life in general is futile efforts to continuously proving ourselves worthy of what we chose to become.
Choosing to live in this world. Maybe the commitments we make all become a reminiscence of the promises we had once made – not just to ourselves but to our Rabb. We fall into this silent space, a perverse hole of relentless echo of the past.
Our head held so damn high to the sleek silver stars that sneer at us like noblemen that that we miss the hazy hole that becomes the reason for our subversive fall. Our posture – once defiant takes a meek and yielding stance as you become fully compliant. Bleak smiles and lifeless eyes. Torn hearts and empty hands. The once sneering stars pause the mockery and begin to watch over you with ceaseless sorrow. The once diabolical stars harmonate in the darkness to consolidate you. Their mumbling pity won’t end until you realise that your foregone fate is in your hands. However you never cease to seek their validation. Your face morphs into theirs. You are them and they are you.
