We all Want Light

 We all want light.

In the innards of our hearts,
We prize it the most.
The light that irradiates the roofs,
In the middle of the winters;
Or when the dark clouds,
Have been the rulers for long.
We all do prize it, and try to catch it,
When we are children,
Gawking at the golden specks of dust,
Floating in a streak of it.
When we can’t touch the light,
And can’t hold the light,
And can’t hear the light,
We say it does not exist.
We smother the lamps, saying,
‘Hey, light is a false thing!’
That light does not exist.

And that is where dark steps in.
It blackens everything, except for the lamps –
But uh-oh!
We had ourselves smothered the lamps,
Long ago,
Saying that light was false,
Because it couldn’t be touched!
Couldn’t be held!
Couldn’t be heard!

Hence standing in the dark,
And then walking in it,
We collide with a thousand things.
The things which are invisible, or
Rather hidden by the claws of dark.
When we stumble into them,
And kneel with a lot of pain,
We think these things are a part of dark –
We can touch the thing we collide with,
We can hold the thing that makes us fall,
And even we can hear to it when it bangs into us.
And it makes us think they are a part of dark,
Or that they are dark.
We think dark can be touched, can be held, can be heard,
We think it is the real thing.
We forget the light,
Forget the golden particles in it,
Forget how it had lighted our roofs,
In the difficult times of utmost black.
We believe dark to be the real thing,
Because it can be touched, held and heard.

Now God knows how long this delusion,
Like the dark itself,
Is going to haunt our brains,
And haunt our lives,
And how long we are going to live with it, in it,
Day in and day out.
God knows.