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Writer's pictureKeshav Suryanarayanan

#58 - I Don't Know


Why does it have to be like this?

This uneasiness,

This uncertainty,

This unpredictability,

This unconscious need,

This unending back and forth,

This unrelenting pendulum of emotions,

This unknown.


Why can't knowing be

Just a little bit easier?

Not too much.

Not so much that its simple,

Not so much that its value is forgotten,

Not so much that my mind questions the knowing itself,

Because surely it cannot be that easy.


So where do I go with this?


Someone once said to me

To wear my heart on my sleeve.

But what if my sleeve's too flimsy?

What if it slips away from my grasp

And falls to a crash?


Do I dare risk that?

Should I?

Can I?


Choices are harder with not enough knowledge to work with.

You see, the choices count on knowing.

And the knowing itself counts on God knows what.

Only God knows.

And God, no one knows.

Not the ones who guess.

Not even the ones who are sure they know.

And especially not the ones who say they are God.

This is probably the trickiest of all knowing

That which claims knowledge of the all-knowing

While still struggling to know oneself


My mind struggles to know itself.

Its source,

Its end,

Its needs,

Its desires,

Its strengths,

Its cracks,

Its choices.


And yet choose, we must.

And pretend to know, we must.

And seem sure, we must.

Being can come later.

We might one day yet become.

Fake it till we make it.

Unless before that, we break it.


For alas, unknowing as the mind is,

Unbreakable it is not.


And break it surely might.

And so my mind and my heart, they fight.


To see which of them may break first.

A broken mind or a broken heart,

Now those are some high stakes.

Unless I can somehow hit the brakes.


Bring them back from the brink

Of what might become my very own civil war.

Maybe I can

Civilise them,

Rationalise with them,

Bargain with them,

Control, or at least guide them.


So who now is this third I,

Playing referee between my heart and mind?


How many I-s are even there?

What is this many-I'd beast that is me?

And how is it that yet I cannot see clearly?

What is it I must do?

What is it I can do?


For how can I do,

When I cannot choose.

And how can I choose,

When I do not know?

And there the cycle begins again.


So, if you ask me what is coming,

I say to you.


I do not know.

And that is the problem.


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