Love Is All and Love Is Nothing

…a voice, a vibration, a lost soul, an unveiled destiny. Seen, unseen, known, unknown, stumbling through hazy visions of its unredeemed past, finding not what was but still is; a picture of Love. A stunning stroke on the black bare wall of its own prison and then void…Echoes making unbearable marks on the already insane mind, leaving behind a husk; nothing more.

Unprecedented order of events influences this mere husk and as a spectator to its own violation, it witnesses itself devoured in the silent sea of loneliness; and no effect of its own volition can ever stand against the mere shadow of that sea…and all this because of Love.

Tossing and jostling, this husk, on the crushing waves of the ocean of time and space, the torture never ends. Pain is no longer abhorrent but blissful, shadows do not insinuate fear but companionship.


A husk, that’s what I have become, a walking, existing body of organs that function forcibly against the dying urge that I have. I dream every night of Love bowing low beside my bed and kissing my brow as if to leave a message of goodbye. I wake up with a start for that resonates in every corner of my soul, hopelessness and loneliness strangles me from within as perspiration appears from without. Every second is magnified tenfold and in every shortest interval a different variation of loneliness resides.

Love is a dream, illusive in its glamour and seductive in its conduct. Love is a goodbye to reason and thought. Love is a decision, Love is a sacrifice, it is many things, all things and nothing too. I never knew I loved until I saw it slip from my grasp as sand slips from the hands of a weary traveler.

Pain and love fly hand in hand like lovers, and it is sweet pain and sweeter love but like a shy maiden love never really lets itself be owned. Love is all and it is nothing. A soul, more than a heart, comes to depend on Love, to find an ally in it. It starts to trust its presence and those days of which we only hear in stories, those blissful, enchanting and euphoric days do happen; but just as the soul is about to take the final leap in euphoria and heavenly bliss, love betrays pushing back and running off to some far off land where never a soul can feel its presence. The soul falls into the dark deep abyss with shadows singing a hymn for its love lost and the heart? What heart? There remains no heart, just a vessel for life, unfeeling. Despairing and lost, the soul wanders the desolates asylums of its own folly, it becomes a stranger to itself.

A cavern, a key but no door; that is how entrapped I feel. When my hours are a victim to bitter memories, and my thoughts are slaves to Love, how can there be freedom? A door, a key and a cavern, that is how lost I feel. So many burdens, overwhelming; constantly they inflict upon me their silent demands. I have become a slave to their whims. I have lost, I have lost, I have lost.

“A stone throw away lies a body, a mere husk of a man who loved, who cared, who protected. There lies a man who never doubted and yet lost his life, his love. There lies a man whose only wish was to hold his beloved in his arms. There! Look! He breathes! But for what?! He breathes for a last glimpse of his beloved…for the last glimpse of her tears.”
Written on the grave of a simple…man.

The Weaver

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

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