I’ve sought long to seek answers to this desperate thirst, this aching pull towards companionship, towards other souls; the need to draw and be drawn to another human – brought out by the innate understanding that one’s burdens weren’t meant to be borne by oneself alone; that the cloak of loneliness was to be shed, once and for all, to seek warmth and safety in the embrace of a loved one.
There rests a deep-seated desire of belonging to someone and being accepted, even in the misunderstood heart of the misanthrope; there grows within the silent, observant introvert, a craving to bare heart and soul and get lost in celebration and conversation; there lies in the heart of the most neurotic, control-freak, a secret urge to be swept up the moment and lose all control… and in each heart beats a call for love, and the need to be someone’s one and only.
Millions of songs composed, tales written, histories explained, mythologies read, artworks done, battles fought – for this, one sublime, supreme, and suppressed sensation of love – yet its show is looked down upon, shunned even, and forced to wear the veil named weakness; while violence, passiveness, stoicism are glorified as strength.
Cupid may be blindfolded, but the world is blind, running about in circles, acting holier-than-thou, failing to see the divinity, joy and immense healing power in love. They hide their expression behind smokescreens and darkness, while swords are brandished in broad daylight, and triggers and blows care not for any cover or pretense.
Oh we’re a lost world, dear reader, and a scared world; and a world that makes away at the first notice of trouble…
And thus, the placid petals shall always fear the violent strength of the terrible thorn, and bloom in silence and captivity, offering their fragrance only when the breeze happens to blow past them, evoking their natural instincts momentarily… the trees shall always remain in fear of being uprooted by some violent force of nature or human, and therefore rustle quietly, when no one listens… the gardens of love shall always remain shrouded in duplicity, masking themselves, resembling a wilderness instead, with here a rose, there a thorn; here a harmless little copse, there a jutting, suspicious, buttress; here a patch of sunny, clear blue sky, and there the dense, fearsome darkness of tall, twisted growths, with their lifelike branches ready to entrap the wanderer; intimidating, eerie and dangerous….
For the world won’t let beauty reign – the world doesn’t understand beauty; the world is threatened by beauty; the world is scared of beauty… and what is beauty, dear reader, but love?
© Isha Garg
Doodle by Isha Garg