WHO DRAWS THE FINE LINE between right and wrong? Who defines what’s accepted from what’s not? Who makes it rational or otherwise? Hearing it seventy-seven times — love conquers everything — yet, does it?
A HUMAN HEART IS AS BIG as one’s fist, pumping the river of humanity as it sinks down all emotions. Should love be so perfect, then only feelings so perfect we just deserve. Yet, why does the heart entertain odd feelings then finds it difficult to withdraw? Why does the truth shout in taking its turn then heck the rest of the world? Why does the heart struggle everyday in taking a park when all it wants to do is to cross the bridge? If rules are set for standards, then why are they so not amiable?
TIME KEEPS COLLAPSING in every corner of my hands as it keeps on drawing its line, going further from my reach. For rules are too perfect to mention as too pierceable to obey. Like black and white, so definite, it would be a glaring truth. With two-folds of humanity, it runs through a river flowing in two very different directions, and every flow has its own new story. What would it take to doubt in taking the turn when all the odds voted yes? What would it cost to raft down the river when the tide goes the opposite?
I KNOW IT’S QUITE ODD for this life may not be ours and there may not be any other way to reverse it. Yet, should faith still beat the odds, then hope is what it’s going to have. If I just have the heart of the world, I could have repainted all the drawn lines to give way to imperfections; but then again, it will just take one true believer.