The man at the doorstep.

You ever wondered why you sit in a cafeteria sipping

on warm tea while a man, old enough to be your father,

stands outside it waiting for nothing?

Ever wondered what it’s like to be so close to comfort,

with that chair vacant for anybody and everybody,

but a man still stands on the sidewalk aching at his


Have we never been that man, thinking of his life over

and over again, every single day, thinking what he

could’ve done differently to be on the other side of reality?

Why isn’t it enough that someone is waiting tables that

now we need someone at the doorstep guarding this

good-for-nothing from God-knows-what?

This man lives in all of us.

All of us walking, sleeping, talking, smiling zombies?

We are what he is.

Always close to comfort but never resting;

Always standing on aching knees, wishing;

Always on stand-by, never really moving;

Always in reality, searching in our pasts for answers

our lives will never give us.

Sitting on this comfort and privilege,

Still wandering within our pasts,

Thinking what could’ve been done better,

What would today be if that one sentence bought you

that job,

If that one relationship had worked out well,

If that one moment you hadn’t broken your mother’s


If that one moment you had finally said No.

Why does one have to keep looking for disguised comfort?

Why must one not have comfort even though reality sits on

someone else’s brighter side?

Why must I not be someone else and why must this man

not be me?

In the end, in due course as time always goes, this whole

act of yesterday to today to tomorrow becomes a journey

people call life. This journey is nothing short of wanting,

wandering and displeasure. This journey is not heaven

for sure but even worse, it isn’t even fully hell; so you

could prepare and un-prepare for battles that aren’t even

meant for you to win.

The man wishes for my seat, I wish for a seat in the


cafeteria- grander than my three hundred rupees tea,

I see another

woman there wishing for God only knows what.

This cycle will go on and on and it’ll look glorified and

celebrated because life is supposed to be a gift.

This cycle will move on in its course, year after year,

until your soul has had thousands of faces and names

to it. This cycle is much more significant than you’ll

ever be to your mother. This cycle is a linear motion

and it remains to be, evolution will show you.

Finally, this cycle will turn and turn around you in every

breath you take to get out of it. It will hold onto your

every belief and never really leave you. It will be all the

beginnings and ends of you.

So in the end, like all other ends of this world, we are

never truly moving. Never truly recouping. Never truly

together. Never truly comfortable.

You question it more and it’ll only give you more answers

to look for.

What is this game then?

Are you even going to think any further if you have

reached this place of the article?

I realise all we truly have is what already is, in this

moment. We only truly have this air, this health and

this nature. We only truly have ourselves and others

around us that make things less painful. We only truly

live by seeing life around us. We are only truly glorified

if this is good enough and that is why life has its place

in history.

This man, me, that woman.. we’re all headed forward

with time. We are all significant if we are all here.

If we don’t give meaning to this nothingness then what

really does? If we aren’t moving time then who else is?

We aren’t these mindless boats lost at sea to peril.

We are what gives definitions to everything that exists.

Insignificant surely, nonsensical truly; but we possess

what nothing else we know does. That is who we are.

Definitions of time, place, heaven, hell, good, bad,

forward, backward, now, then. We are definitions of

possibilities. That, is beyond being mere vessels lost

to never find shore.

That’s the point. You are that shore. You are that sea.

You are that sky. You are the miracle and the irony.

You are not just living lives. You are making yours and

theirs as you go your distance. You are you because

they aren’t.

You are anything but human to me.

You are living Gods.

I’ll never see this man the same way again.

If he knew, he wouldn’t see himself that way again.



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