We are mortals and it is in our blood to walk towards death fearing it all the while. We have nowhere else to go.

It is difficult to love the mortals. 

And it is difficult for mortals to Love.

Mortals, people, they come with boundaries and conditions. They come with limited time and limited knowledge and weak commitments. They can only think and see so far. You can trust them but only for the time being because most of them are waiting for the next best opportunity. We are all each other’s least best option, dispensable, until the next best replaces the last. There are a very few exceptions to that like the motherliness of a Mother. 

Mortals, they have fleeting and fluctuating personalities too. Fire in a moment and vapour the next. And talk of attachment, we mortals are like strong magnets. We attract and get attracted to feel complete and whole. But we get attached in a way that apprising us apart leaves us broken and incomplete. And we hardly have command or strength over saving our wholeness in the process. It is like pulling out a knitted glove out of a dense thorny bush. The pain is real and the surprise and disappointment is bigger than the pain. And memories, memories are the last guests to leave. Sometimes they find home. 

And then our psychology comes into play, a psychology that was supposed to work for us rather than against us. As we travel further in time, we tend to forget the painful and problematic moments and only remember the cherished parts and hence we create a picture that all was rather good and happy which in reality is not true. So we crib and crave to go back to that place again where we imagine that all was well. 

We mortals are all so incomplete with cracks, broken, that we all are looking to be a part of something to become whole again, for as long as we can, to breathe and sigh again like we imagine we would in the bosom or arms of a beloved someone or something. So we hardly  hesitate to jump again into what we also know might leave us broken and incomplete once again, sometimes even as good as dead. But that’s what we mortals are moving towards, towards being dead. 

Immortal is He, without a face, without a form, without comprehension for our minds only so evolved.

He gives, he takes, He clutches and He liberates.

He does not part, He does not leave.

He is not jealous and He does not grieve. 

What do I ask you, I do not know!

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Sartaj Saifi

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