Step into a world of poetic beauty and inspiration with 'Echoes of the Soul.' This collection of prose, poems and quotes takes you on a journey of self-discovery and reflection, exploring themes of love, heartbreak, hope, and healing. With each page...
Days, weeks, months flew away like a jet plane. The hour, minute and the second hand of the clock mocked me with their 'tick-tock, tick-tock'. Getting up then spending the day and then again dozing off. Morning became evening, evening again morning. I was a zombie. Not a virus one nor the one hungry for human brains but a humanoid zombie just "spending" my days, for the time which felt like eternity. Just holding onto the essence of humanity in my dead cells. Humanity that I once knew. I was a human once. Colours I once knew, or did I? Assuming that I once knew colours, they began to fade away -the green of my grass, the yellow of my sunlight, the blue of my sky and the sky's pink blush that used to appear during winter evenings and mornings- they fadedand got replaced by blacks and whites and greys. This was probably a result of my zombification or probably it was the reason behind my zombieness. It was horrifying. As if someone snatched a toy from a toddler. But the toddler can cry and protest and throw a tantrum to get it back, what could a zombie had done? This zombie didn't even know what happened and why? "Why did my colours get taken away?" "Who took them?" "Where did they go?" "Who do I throw a tantrum at?" "Will they listen?" "WILL THEY UNDERSTAND?" "DO I UNDERSTAND?"... As much as the second last question must have hit, the last one is more important in my opinion. The zombie me didn't even understand what happened, and if I don't understand then how can anybody else? Or probably the zombie me was wrong? Probably someone might have understood it better than Me?
Amidst this monotony and turmoil, one thing the zombie me did realise at some point was that 'I stopped living.' Probably the reason behind the phenomenon of me becoming a zombie, or probably me becoming a zombie caused that, or the taking away of colours of my life did it? Or is there any other layer to the mystery behind thy zombieness? I don't know. But one thing was clear, I wasn't living. I wasn't me. To avoid becoming the straightest tree in the forest and being the first one to get cut, I tried becoming a distorted tree, and it made me into a zombie. I became a mask, a persona, a personality. I wasn't living, the persona was. Probably that's why my senses protested. That's why my body protested to sleep to nourish something it doesn't belong to. That's why my body protested to wake to live as something it's not a part of. That's why my mind became dead- A Zombie. It was like someone pulling me back from falling into a pit. Saving me from forgetting myself and becoming that personality before it got deep rooted. Dissipating of colours from my life, the mocking of time, the doom of my senses was the message that told me "This is not you."
I'm tired of not living, I want my colours back, I want the time to end and become eternity. Eternity that's chosen, not imposed or a symptom of a disease.
I want to live.
-Vanshiwrts
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