Musings and bruisings directly or indirectly form a crucial part of our everyday lives, decisions and actions. We are all swayed and played and made to believe that the thoughts that invade deserve to stay.
We talk about pride, wrath, greed, lust, gluttony, sloth, envy as the epitome of sin when it all begins within — vice, the visceral grip, menacing, skinning our conscience, the consequence; our body is a product of a voice than mind.
Thought pollution can be anything — the intrusive pop-ups in your phone to the monologues that you face when you're alone, it can be the words of your kith and kin, as much as it can be from within.
The phrase, thought pollution — though might seem foreign, is second nature to us. Ingrained, vile and unavoidable, nevertheless.
From the historical Shakuni-Duryodhan dynamic to today's teens (or everyone in general), thought pollution has been made into an inevitable component, despite its drastic effects.
Kids are still depressed, voices, voices are suppressed, our world's drowning in unrest with too much words left unsaid. Hearts are darkened, dull as lead. (Humanity?) Disdain talks instead.
We look around, through skies and ground, we run behind things that are not our own. Silence is a luxury, too much to bemoan (about) being ourselves is a rarity, pretense is out aloud.
We fail to love ourselves, live by ourselves, letting ardent storms of enmity rage, riptide ripping through love and calm, hypocrisy 'stead of courage, hate instead of homage.
Now we're all polluted, we're corrupted deep inside from seeds of deeds too malovent yet unsuspecting — they're too normalized. (We are not taught to empathize.)
We forget to breathe to grieve, to see what life really is underneath — the breeze, the ease (unease) — losing ourselves just to appease (the preconceived notions of what a man should be. Maybe that's unneeded — thoughts so tainted, it agrees.)
Hope we'll rise from the shackles of our own, breaking dainty chains that push us behind — from the one oppressor — the amoral mind. Hopes for a tomorrow where you're happier and a little more kind, as behind every bad decision — there's an idea, there's a thought — mistaken humankind.
Let loose, all ills in absolute (thoughts too cruel resemble a Pandora's box — cause of anger, of angst, of hurt, of abuse) too strong, too raw, the harm — makes me too speechless to conclude.
And even as I try to find words to impact you, my mind's still hazy from the brunt of what we're facing. Thoughts still rush out but I'm stuck in voids, lost my voice, trembling out in fear (or loss?) As I try, I try. We keep trying yet we're helpless, we're spectators to the mayhem of our people but we're silent, we're pliant, we're turbulent — and I think that's thought pollution, that that's thought pollution too.
[a/n: i thought i really did something huh 😬 this was supposed to be a birthday post but i ended up forgetting ugh. anyways, this is an essay about thought pollution that i penned down half-a-month or so ago, so happy comeback into truth media i guess. and yes, the cover pic is a black background, so call it what you want]
Brilliant man 🤜