According to world psychology, grief goes through seven stages. We seek different forms of condolence and prayers for comfort, strength, and peace. We preach to the Lord in hope, hoping that one day the supreme Lord will hear these prayers and turn them into reality. As we are on the brink of death for our loved ones. We cry. With the baggage of loss, grief, and pain crushing us down to the edge of the threshold, our devotion intensifies. We bestow ourselves on belief regardless of the religion we follow, bestowing ourselves at the feet of the Supreme Lord. We are terrified of losing the person we love to dissolve in the air and becoming a memory of the past. We are afraid of our own selfish beliefs, afraid of being left alone on the earth, and bereft of people who are the reason we enliven ourselves a thousandfold more every day. The intensity of love grows with grief’s passing stages. Ironically, the world expects to stop the tears. People say that with time, we can live without them. But quite the opposite happens, right? We try harder to remember every detail intricately in the lane of memory. Suffocation is when we are holding on to the thread of life. One loose grip and the connection ends. We envy the starless night deprived of light, craving the diamond bed sheet spread in the sky right before you lose the gem. The non-living things scare us, bombarding us with the thread it held in the past. We want to scream. Loud. Like one in the world had never heard before. To ask for the last chance. To redeem. To feel free from suffocation. But it never comes. Never again. The pawn of this game plays till we turn into a corpse. Eyes hollowed, with no more tears left, not enough to beg for another one. Not ready to replace the one.
The day we reopen undisturbed, the unfaithfulness follows us down memory road but shuns us. With all at our disposal, we try. Deny. Pretend. But it becomes a battle with our inner selves. In the end, nothing changes. Dark! Covered in the cloak of night, the world seems careless—not the same as a diamond raining on a loved one. Apathy lingers in the room, reflecting on the mistakes we committed. Forbidden river, yet flowing in upholding motion. Unrectified. The plucked flower won’t grow again. The crushed leaf will burrow into the earth, while the plant will remain intact in terms of its roots. It’s unusual how we try to forget the remnants, but in the process, they dissolve in the ashes. But it’s pristine, as it was before. In the juxtaposition of sorrow and seeking shelter, we mess up. Sceptical about whom to trust while it overshadowed us on the path of the supreme God. Overshadowing the treason while unravelling our sin.
The withdrawal from the present world is turning sclerotic for the people who deserve their share of love. The war between the thin line of mourning and saving the next one The condolences and comfort burn us out. Words of peace feel like embers on our skin. We bow to hollow scriptures in the hope of strength to keep calm. We have no reconciliation when the perfect, heartfelt communication between us and the Almighty turns into a blaming conversation. The trust spreads bit by bit, changing us into lost souls. The choice between seeking strength for ourselves or praying. One last time for our loved ones madden us. Wreaking havoc on our inner selves. We weep till we find the oasis of an end. When no more sorrow or tears are heard. Until the knapsack of endless weight did not completely crush us,
He says. I pray you don’t reach that threshold. I pray your loved one remains safe. I pray your trust doesn’t meet the death bed of betrayal. I pray you don’t turn into a wrinkled rose.
Blog by-@Maatijyo
Maatijyo words 