a meaningful life?

everyone asks me what would i die for?

i say "a meaningful life".

... but meaning does not descend.

in the last god knows how many days i have rocked my head or rather landscapes have been shaped and reshaped by earthquakes and avalanches have stepped in when when all seemed picture perfect.

what is a meaningful life i ask?

and the post structuralists in my head reply: meaning cannot be achieved.

but then this does not also lead to the loss of meaning.

meaning that foul deceitful thing will always remain, eluding us from our path, showing us mirages that intoxicate and leading us to new places that have never been. and in our Sisyphean madness what we reckon is the pursuit the journey and not the destination. when we realize the illusion that we have lived the why does not arise for the toil tends to fill us up with a sense of fullness and we look for future pursuits!

as i continue with the rupture of my head and soul, i think the same madness has engulfed me too and filled me up with pride. i do not know what i want but i do know what i don't. i would rather live to see my head and soul rupturing in quest of something for infinity but i will not be able to stand a Cartesian split between the two.

better the unhappy wise than the happy fool my young blood says.

but then from somewhere within that damned voice whispers come sunset will it matter? will exhaustion not come in and the body-soul ask for rest in the arms of someone dear?

and an uncanny silence sets in preparing way for the storm again the next morning.