A certain loneliness haunts this place,
of feelings, rather than people,
there's sights aplenty, true,
but its our emotions that we cull;
And I don't mean the ones we see
or the ones we share among others,
nor the binary ones of black and white
but the ones that burst with colours;
The ones that elate us all,
leaving with an indefinite high,
the ones for which you would kill
and the ones for which I would gladly die;
The ones we lost a long time ago
in an age we can't recall,
from the highest of times to the lowest of lows,
before we were pushed into a spiralling free fall;
A feeling that's not there anymore
and has left me a hollow shell,
I cannot climb back up to my innocence
from my apathy, to which I fell;
Nothing could replace the times
I felt like I was unnervingly complete,
The pinnacle of my life, so far gone
that everything forth is obsolete;
"Is this it then?", you may ask, "Is this all?"
"To be happy now must i forever pretend?"
"And must i bow to this cruel, miserable state
to which i am forever condemned?"
A whisper subtly crosses my lips
as if to say "No, my friend",
"I cannot know what happens now
but be brave, for this not the end"
This is not The End.
--- Yash Laddha