A Love Letter to Humanity

By Aadhya Narwadkar

Oh, dear humans and people of the world,

Here seep my thoughts from the depth of the mind,

Here turns blood to ink by the stroke of a pen,

Here unrequited thoughts lie open to find.

If you knew all about the life of a poet,

Would it be something you'd wish you had?

Would it be something to ponder upon

Or merely something that would make you go mad?

Here lies a part of my soul on display,

Here lie my thoughts for all to see,

So please, turn pages freely as you make your way,

Through the world that surrounds my pen and me.

To the Mind:

1. What soul on earth could tell

With perfect certainty, that is,

Precisely what flood of thoughts

Hurl through the mind, not one amiss.

We can study and analyze,

And great toil for knowledge endure,

But Orpheus even could not know

If his love was following for sure.

The human mind is heinous at best

Though great things come from using it

But the greatest people who all wisdom hold,

Spill their souls into madness, bit by bit.

Was there ever an artist, I implore,

A leader of people or one of words,

Who didn't drown himself in reservoirs of success,

Whose mind didn't give itself up to bring knowledge to the world?

Such is the predicament, perhaps as the gods meant it to be,

That too much of the wisdom we toil for since we emerged through the womb,

Is the one thing, perhaps second to other man,

That leads us off the precipice of sanity, straight to our tomb.

2. If someone asked us to define a dream,

How many of us would say,

That it is something to be gained

Before it drifts away.

It doesn't let us sleep,

As a great man once said,

But for some, it is the reason

They even bother going to bed.

It could be hell for some,

A place of freedom for others,

Some work to make dreams real,

While some are only smothered.

Is a dream really something

You see when you are at rest,

Or is it that constant force

That you channel to be the best

Is it the thing that makes us

Ambitious or weak

Is it the thing that defines

Whether we are ordinary or unique

If someone asked us to define a dream

How many of us would say,

It is something that keeps us sane

Or lets us drift away.

3. People are interesting.

Some strive to be what they want in life,

Some have no clue where to start,

Some don't care and live in the moment,

Some care too much, and it breaks them apart.

People are interesting.

Sometimes they find love and friendship in others,

But only in those who do not care for them.

So they drown themselves in envy and sorrow,

Just to fall in love with another again.

People are interesting.

They adapt themselves to the company they have,

Everyone's thoughts and moods are the same.

But once they all leave, they lose sight of themselves,

All that's left to them is a name.

People are interesting.

One might feel elated in the company of another,

But one action or word could change that.

So some tread carefully and don't take risks,

Others say things they can't take back.

People are interesting.

Joy and happiness are the products of effort,

Everyone knows that simple rule.

But some defy it, then blame it on fate.

They are called either geniuses or fools.

People are interesting.

Life is unfair at times; it just depends on how one handles it.

You could just never give up, let all the mysteries get unfurled,

Or you could rage around and please yourself, despite what others think.

You'd lose everyone but yourself, but that's just the way of the world.

People are rather interesting.

4. It is on midnights like this

That we truly choose to think

About all we have done in life,

About all there is to bring.

Why, pray, do we not remember

All our errs and misfortunes

Under the sun's bright light,

When daylight burgeons?

Why is it that our minds

Choose only this time

Why not at the crack of dawn

Instead of midnight's chime?

Perhaps it is the darkness

That consumes our mind,

Perhaps the thoughts of the day

Make light hard to find.

Or, although we are human,

Perhaps it is so,

That the deep night outside

Is the only one to know

Of all our faults and all we blame ourselves for,

Perhaps the light gets the good, and the darkness bad after all.

To the World:

1. When told to look up at the sky

And tell me what you see,

Would you talk about the Moon

Or the Stars that wander free?

Would you bend your neck upward

And try to keep your gaze,

No matter how much it hurt your eyes,

On the Sun's bright rays?

Would you watch as the colours

Of the sky seemed to blend

As amethyst meets orange

And the Sun slowly descends?

Or would you merely look up

And not try to seek

Any eye-catching beauty

Or a colourful streak,

When told to look up at the sky

And tell me what you see,

What would you see differently?

How unique would you be?

Think about this a while longer,

What if, in similar cases,

You were told to watch and tell

What is seen in a crowd of faces

Would you gravitate naturally

Towards those most well-known,

Or see the best in them all

And not merely those who are alone?

Or would you just pick one

The brightest shining gem,

And say, ‘The Sun or Moon, of course.

No one matters compared to them.’

2. There have been millions spent,

Blood spilled, relations torn,

For the sole purpose of knowing

Why humankind was truly born.

And to learn this truth before we die,

Is a vow most of us have sworn.

Some say the question itself is wrong,

Unanswerable; merely a coy,

Some spend their lives' worth to know

Why exactly the Greeks fell Troy.

It was for pride and love, they say,

But in war, I see no joy.

Perhaps it is truly meaningless,

Our lives mean nothing at all.

All those people we wish to please,

Shall hold no worth when the world falls.

And those buildings we submit ourselves to,

Shall no longer stand tall.

But that must not mean we should lose

All hope of happiness, oh no,

Rather, this means that the life we live

Must be lived merely to grow.

If it truly is so short,

Perhaps peace should be all we know.

3. People wonder, people think

They spend their lives to find out

People fantasize and theorize

And consult everyone about,

The possibility of there being

Such a power in the world

Such a force, or a way to move

Each obstacle that is hurled.

Children are made to believe in it,

Though most contradict it with fact

Scientists prove it wrong,

Religion hails it a holy act.

Perhaps the question must not be

'Is magic real, or is it not?'

Perhaps we should ask, 'If it was real,

Would it truly be used with thought?

'Would it be safeguarded keenly

To keep it out of harmful hands,

Or would people not give a dime

About humanity's demands?'

And what if magic exists

What if it already has been found

What if the truth is merely buried

Deep into the ground?

Would this truly anger most,

Or be an understandable way

To keep it away from all evil

And preserve good every day?

People wonder, people worry,

These thoughts take over lives,

I say, if magic breathes among us,

Let it guard what good survives.

4. How many times have we wondered

Why we are so afraid of death,

Why we are told that to live is better

Than facing what we have never met.

They say it is twenty-one grams,

And twenty-one grams merely

That exits the body once heartbeats cease,

The weight of a human soul, really.

However, great leaders have proclaimed,

Science proved and math confirmed,

That death means nothing cleaved of its name,

What happens after it is what you have earned.

Perhaps heaven does not exist,

Nor does a space of any kind

Nowhere for the soul to rest afterwards,

No place of solace for the mind.

Perhaps all that goes on around us,

Is the end of our lives’ worth.

Our actions mean nothing after death,

Both heaven and hell are on the Earth.

Or perchance, these thoughts are futile,

Each is an arrow that aims only low,

If nobody knows what succeeds death,

It could be something we are not meant to know.

To the Heart:

1. Sometimes, in areas where I reside,

Where misery, pain, and hurt tend to hide,

I see other people all around the place

A smile of happiness curved upon their face.

At times, I wonder what the reason for this is,

As joy gleams upon their faces, something most others miss,

Their eyes soften and lower, smiling to the ground,

Sometimes to other passers-by, sometimes to a pebble mound.

Is it the fondness of a love, I think, that was once found?

Is it nostalgia as it creeps into the mind, safe and sound?

Is it the memory of a joke that brought amusement to their face?

Is it a dress in a shop window made of fine silk and lace?

Is it a book they once read, or a scene that they enjoy?

Is it the thought of a once-forgotten childhood toy?

Is it the face of a loved one when they said they were proud?

Is it someone they recognize in this gargantuan crowd?

As I ponder over these thoughts, every possible case,

I realize we all have memories, some we cherish, some we grieve,

But this time, a smile caresses that one stranger's face

Not the tears of misery, leaving a mark with each streak.

2. They say all people have another half,

Their lives are intertwined, inevitably connected,

An invisible string between them, woven by the fates,

Each action of theirs, towards each other directed.

It is on bus rides alone or walks in the park

That my mind seems to wander to where you may be,

I know it is futile, we are children at best,

But even so soon, you are everything to me.

I may not know your name, may not have seen your face,

I may not even know whether you exist or not,

But it is times of sorrow, of despair, of hope,

When I feel you all around, when you consume my thoughts.

I know you are out there, perhaps too far to know,

Whether we shall meet in this lifetime for sure,

But I know every step we take, from breaths first to last,

Are for the purpose of uniting our hearts' deepest core.

Until we meet, as long as we drift closer like birds,

I may be the poet for now, but you will always be the words.

3. I may not ever meet you, may not ever hear,

The sound of your voice next to mine, as you draw near,

I may not ever loudly your name shout,

And yet, for now, you are all I think about.

Your shadow dances in the flames at midnight's chime,

Your whispers echo through the darkness, transcending time,

You may not know how much joy to me you bring,

Yet, we are still connected through an invisible string.

Perhaps I may never even know your name,

Yet I never cease to wonder whether you feel the same,

Across oceans, rivers, and masses of land,

Across the miles of distance between where we both stand.

Perhaps each step we take brings us farther rather than near,

Perhaps we may never meet, which is something I truly fear,

For although you may find another, and I may too,

My greatest regret would forever be that I never met you.

4. We've talked about a lot, we've come quite a long way,

But whoever thinks about all the words we cannot say?

Words to chapters, chapters to books, life goes on all the time

But the real feat is to find meaning within the empty lines.

It is a human tendency to form connections like wildfire.

And to talk to others forever is something we all desire,

But perhaps the lesson to learn, life's one true token,

Is that some things must not be said but merely remain unspoken.

Arguments rage on, loving words are yet to be told

One's word is how people judge whether they are approachable or cold.

If this was known, perhaps our words would be thought about some more,

Perhaps then we would think about the effect that they could have for sure.

But if we truly think about each word that we emit,

If we speak with only thought, and let no feeling admit,

Would words that are spoken truly carry much more value,

From those that remain unsaid, those that remain raw and true?

To the Soul:

1. How different we all are,

In too many ways to count,

How different are the conflicts

And the problems we surmount,

Yet all we do is stay up at night

Day by day, week by week,

And think in silence, as our dreadful

Memories roll down our cheek.

Why is it that we humans,

Never really seem to forget

All the awfully melancholia,

All the arguments and deaths.

But when all around ourselves

Happiness and beauty we see,

We shall never remember all the joy

The world gives us for free.

The great Kafka once said,

And by me it shall be retold,

‘Anyone who keeps the ability

To see beauty, never grows old.’

Perhaps this is the truth,

The hidden meaning behind it all,

Perhaps the ideal life was never a lie,

Only a way to stand tall.

2. Sometimes I truly wonder why

We take so many things to heart.

We are but young and lively,

Sorrow for us is yet to start.

People in life come and go,

They are met and forgotten about,

Holding grudges is seldom done,

For only a moment, we ragingly shout.

Sometimes we win, sometimes not

Give everyone a chance, we must.

But one can never truly lose,

If in themselves they trust.

In the tale of Hagnē Demeter,

And the Underworld's Wife,

The loss of hope and anger gained

Created the circle of life.

If this period of time we have,

Between our birth and death,

Is such meager in amount,

Should we not live it for ourselves?

3. This world may have been created

For a reason, maybe not.

But all that happens here is seen

By celestial bodies of thought.

Perhaps all the morals we each live by,

All the standards set by us

Were first created by stars in the sky.

And we formed from ethereal stardust.

Have we ever truly doubted

That magic exists?

Has anyone ever not felt it,

In moments of true bliss?

We are each of us something special

Something one of a kind

It is only the magic within us,

That is vital to find.

So run that extra mile,

Do that thing you know you shouldn't

Perhaps later on,

You'll regret that you couldn't.

This world may have been created

For a reason, maybe not.

But to make the most of what we have,

We all surely ought.

4. When all that is to be done is done,

And we have finally passed,

What if when the Gods are met,

They approach you and ask:

‘How was your time in heaven?

Did you enjoy every day?’

I fear most of us would be stunned

And know not of what to say.

For do we ever really

See life on earth that way?

What if we chose to look at things

Through another lens today?

What if, after some wondering,

We'd think of a reply.

We'd say, ‘Oh, lords, was that true heaven?

I was merely waiting to die.’

And they chuckled amongst themselves,

Perhaps laughed at our idiocy

‘If you didn't think life was heaven,

What did you truly see?’

Perhaps you do not need to change

Your perspective of life each day.

But tell me, if you don’t see life as heaven,

What do you do to make it that way?’

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By Aadhya Narwadkar