I. Description of Chaos
The empty roads, not always empty,
Or maybe they are,
Filled with the presence of those who have left,
Or never arrived.
Sun blooms every morning in the garden,
Flowers rise from the deep blue sky.
Eyes close in tumultuous morn,
Open in deep solitary darkness.
Morning never comes, only the lights,
Peeping through the flowers, rising in the sky.
The garden, the sun,
Gives bashful rays.
Night never comes too, only the darkness.
Moon, from the serenity of the mind, shines.
Lunar eclipse falters,
Shining rays struggle to glow.
Earth and Moon align in a nearly perfect row,
Every day the soul drowns in hopelessness,
A silence untold,
So many untold emotions.
Every night arrives, and a thousand die,
Reluctant to wake up in a sinful morn.
Words hum and haw,
Marking the weight of pain.
II. Day to Night Chaos
Morning roams the road with a torchlight,
Fashionable, colorful, in luxurious garments,
Nine layers of powder on its face,
Shining brighter and brighter
Until its glow subsides.
Torchlight dims, transforming into a tank,
Filled with water sucked from mankind.
The floods come and drown
Millions of hearts, and the morn itself.
Afternoon walks and runs around hungry people,
Phentermine in one hand, opium in the other,
Injected into drowsy brains,
A colossal elephant crumpling a thousand trees.
Evening subsides the Phentermine effects,
Dancing around exhausted intellectuals.
"Hurled headlong, flaming,
With hideous ruin and combustion,
Down to bottomless—"
Hungry hearts stagger into groceries and bars,
Two glasses of painkillers in hand,
Drinking until the late night calls the next day.
Everyone is a great philosopher in the late night,
Brimming with philanthropic zeal,
Thinking of death and impending doom,
Aware of the heartless future.
Corruption, system collapse,
Religions abate,
Spirituality dies long before modernity’s demands.
No, dying must not be the way to end,
But dying every day
Must be the way to live
Amid the chaos we see.
III. Hope Unusual
Hope never comes, only consolation
From the uneducated, unestablished
Gentleman and Lady,
Their minds dwelling in the afterlife's speculative pleasure.
Oops—what can be hope?
Oops—what can be a solution?
Oops—what can be happiness?
Religions and spiritualism,
Bound in a chaotic realm,
What can people see?
What can they expect for peace?
With abundant pleasure,
Happiness seems a mirage.
The only way to embrace it all
Is to die every day in chaos,
Until the final breath.
No hope can save life,
Life must fall to find peace.
It may sound strange,
But it's the only way
To arrange the pieces of life
Into a beautiful exchange,
A blissful exchange.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Suman Mondal is an emerging writer from West Bengal, India, and a student at Rampurhat College. His articles, short stories, and poems, inspired by metaphysics and philosophy, have been published multiple times in The Statesman, including its 2024 festival issue.
