In Death, In Solitude

By Hussain Kachwala

I sit on the edge of life's borders and wonder when I will finally take my leave  from the mortal realm. 

An echoed voice tells me I have stayed for longer than I should have. 

What's there to stop me from staying on this side of the ledge or taking the  plunge into the void, becoming one with it? 

The thought of not being alone for once seems warm enough to take the final  step. 

If I go, the wounds I have suffered will cease to pain me, and those that will  arrive with time simply will not. Yet the cost of giving up everything scares my  frugal mind. 

If I stay, there is hope that things will get better as I do, and the wounds will  become distant memories, too unimportant to remember. Yet the uncertainty of  tomorrow scares me. 

If I cross the border, do I bear guilt? For I know someone will be hurt if I go.  But in an existence where I cease to exist, do I care about them anymore? Part  of me wishes I do. 

Or will the superficial mourning die out within a few cries, as the routine set  prior needs to be followed to the last detail?

Staying means being alone again. Alone as I sit on this ledge, alone as I face the  world, alone as I eat, and alone as I weep. But here, I still live, to feel. Feel  something, however pleasurable or hurtful it may be, but at least feel. 

Leaving means accepting the void. Giving up my flesh to become one with it  and gain it as my friend, as my companion, as my comrade, as someone who  will not leave me. But there, I no longer live, no longer feel, no know what  happiness is. 

Life takes, death gives. Death takes, life gives. 

I have to choose one, or time chooses it for me. 

For some life is beautiful, for others death is liberation. For me? I haven't  decided yet. 

It feels balanced here in a way, being in the middle of nowhere and everywhere  all at once. 

A compromise between harmony and discord. 

I sit on the edge for a little while longer. For there are more stories to  tell before I go.

By Hussain Kachwala