Breathing’s so hard when it’s the last thing you want to do

I wonder how it feels to arise from a dead body as a newly ghost and discover the ache of not being alive.

I wonder how it feels to be 65 and stuffed in between the rubble which was few minutes ago was your dear house where you raised your dear family.

I wonder how it feels like being 55 and the attaché which took you to places, lands on your head, leave your ears ringing and body paralyzed with fear. How it feels to see your attaché now packing up your life, one breath at a time.

I wonder how it feels to be 45 and listening to the fainting cries of your loved ones, when the earth rips open and the sky weeps. 

I wonder how it feels to be 35 and getting sandwiched like your favourite chicken patty for a day and night and for another day and night and drinking your own sweat and urine. I wonder how hope looks like a rainbow to (some) people.

I wonder how it feels to be 25 and setting pyres for your family across the debris of the city. And then setting it for other’s family.

 

I wonder what it feels like being 15 and finding yourself at the edge of the galaxy because most of the Facebook friends’ accounts now belong to dead people.

I wonder how small countries make small people make smaller lives.

I wonder how we (rest of the world) measure our ache beyond their ache.

I wonder how our (the world’s) priorities are fucked up.

I wonder because what else to do when the world is literally upside down?

Well, my thoughts are nothing but shaken.