Sometimes it feels like there are three lives inside us, all happening at once — none caring to listen to the others.
The soul is exhausted.
It’s tired of playing roles, tired of chasing in the endless race of this world. It whispers, almost pleading:
*”No role, no race, please.“*
But the mind is wired differently.
It still wants something to hold onto, some meaning, some anchor.
And when it finds nothing, it panics and screams:
*”Then why live this meaningless life?“*
Meanwhile, the body couldn’t care less.
It keeps breathing, keeps the heart pumping.
entirely indifferent to the soul’s exhaustion or the mind’s desperate search for reasons.
It simply goes on. Each stuck in its own small cage.
— Jayasudha
unspoken, still