A Poem Rumi Forgot to Complete

Absurdism vs Nihilism  I can no longer use nihilism because nihilism is the last stage of pessimism. So I found a relatively less controversial label - absurdism. Why would I pay attention to this? The logic is simple, my readers were not happy with me being a nihilist.  To some extent, if both are studied logically, convey the same meaning. However, they told me to relinquish nihilism. You see, the world, won't let you freely label yourself. Nihilism was something more depressive, then what is absurdism. Google says it is philosophy that believes the universe is meaningless. In the first place, I had no problem with the universe. I don't care whether the universe should be more meaningful. I had raised questions only about the creation of Adam and myself.   What I think is that my life is meaningless. By embracing absurdism, I would be a nihilist for everything. But it does not matter. Embracing absurdism I don't mind a galaxy moving away or moving towards one another. I

I lost, when, where and how. I don't know. What did I lose? I don't know. Was I really in the abyss of despair? I had no idea. Maybe a part of myself, a piece of my heart, my soul? I couldn't figure it out. I never would. It was so sudden that I couldn't gather the courage to find it again. Why it was like that? Was I miserable? Or I was just overthinking? Was there any hope for me? Or I was just being overdramatic?  I wanted to scream, I wanted to share, I wanted to yell the hell out of me but I couldn't. How could I? The only thing that kept me alive, was no more with me. Without a soul, the words did not weigh much. I had only words. The words that had kept me alive. Without them, I was nothing, they had lost their impact. I was wondering in the sea of nothingness. My surroundings were nothing but the abyss of pessimism. I could have escaped but there was no need to escape. How could we escape ourselves? In the process of escapism, we lose the essence of the self

Not a single person on this earth can deny death. Even those who do not believe anything. Because death is an inevitable reality. In " The Book Thief" Markus Zusak says, "It kills me how some people die." Yes, it kills us completely.  In my life, too, death has always danced. The people I loved, I cared about, everyone just succumbed to death. So I got used to it. With each death, I become more and more puzzled. But does it stop life? What happens when one dies?  Nothing happens. Life goes on. The people who lose to death, we cannot find them in someone else. Once lost, they cannot be found again. Yet, life goes on. It stops for no one and it never should. If it stopped, all the principles of the universe would come to an end.  But, it does not mean, we don't mourn. We do. There are shock waves. The stages of pain, the recollection of moments, we recall them in happy moments and sad events. We meet them in dreams. But we can never touch them, smell them or hug t

They ask me who am I. Should this question be asked? Of course not. Sadly, I have no name, it ruins the beauty of mystery. The name does not matter, does it? Many people died without anyone remembering their names. They were incomplete stories, unwritten words, and undiscovered thoughts. I want to remain like that too  because I am a poem Rumi forgot to complete. Today, I choose to write about that incomplete poem. But why I am the poem of Rumi? And not of Shakespeare,  Shah Latif, or Bullhe Shah?  Because Rumi had Shams.  Shams acted as a muse for Rumi. When he started that poem, he lost his muse; thus an incomplete poem was born. An incomplete chaos, an unsolved puzzle, and everything that is lost on the way. We all are someone's Rumi and someone's Shams - doesn't it sound amazing? But in reality, neither you are a Shams nor I am a Rumi. We are those words that were never said loudly. Words that were only thought.  So, starting from this, I finally tried to write about my