This was an entry to my university’s annual literary journal. I was on my last year in college. Luckily, it was one of the four entries my brother submitted that was published (all of them published)- one check on my list to do before I graduated..
I opened my eyes,
ready to accept fate
and search for myself
in this wanton place
but then I realized
the world is merely an illusion
of an unceasing quest
for the one you could never be,
ignoring the simple answers
you ignored inside yourself.
You searched and failed
to look for a permanent shelter,
becoming a wanderer you never intended
the world is merely an illusion my friend,
an unceasing quest
for simple answers
that beg to be left alone,
warning you of their forbiddingness,
or you pay the price of unlocking Pandora’s box.
But you risked to know who you are
the one who’s trapped in a bottomless hole,
going through the pretenses
and braving through the deceptions,
trying to dive deeper
than you originally planned,
hoping to get nearer
but in the process, got farther
farther away from
what they really want to reveal
pushing you up the surface,
saving you from more airless world,
covering your ears, blinding your eyes.
You try to uncover your ears,
Hoping to listen to one bit of clue
but you only found yourself in a whirlpool
of confusion, of dilemma,
challenging your ideals
that takes you back again
to where you started
should the truth continue to be known
inspite of knowing you merely live in illusion,
in denial of that illusion
of what you really are
of how well you really know yourself?
You are labeled and branded,
calculated in every detail,
of your superficial being,
of what rabbit you’ll follow to the hole,
from where you came from
towards this unnerving illusion.
Or should you take the blue pill instead of the red
to continue living in your damned illusion.
Try to open your eyes
but try as you may,
you cannot see
beyond this illusion
you only know and trust
what is visible, of what is acceptable
to you and you alone.
You clean your ears,
hoping to hear better
but you can only hear the unmade sounds
of a heart that has long been forsaken.
You try to understand
but there’s hardly something to understand, is there?
Or has understanding ever really existed?
Is there something to understanding
when you’re merely looking for something
that merely goes through you,
that sifts through your tired soul,
revealing only the inessential fragments
of your overused emotion
rather than the essential remnants
of who you truly are…?
You‘ve just sold your chance
to taste freedom…
and bought back your slavery for deception…
you who live in pretenses…
you who tried to dive deeper
into the hole…
but only found the mirage of your
wandering around your chances…
becoming a nomad in this world of illusion….
Living in the concealment of your guarded emotion…