The world is inherently ugly,

Dull as the thud of death

Muddled in everyday indifference –


The very reason poets

Look to the sky,

And madmen (like I)


Cannot stop

Scratching the surface,

Scarring parchment skin,


In hope of striking scarlet gold,

Buried away by leprechauns

With sorrows old.



Bleed now,

My dearest.


For the world depends

On the declotting

Of this sentiment.



The Maze Runners

The Maze


Existentialism is a maze. No one has found a way out of it yet. At least not that we, the living, know of. Life, or existence, doesn’t really seem to have a point to it. It doesn’t even seem to have a clear beginning or end point either: Nobody’s sure when a soul enters a bunch of living cells; nobody knows what comes after the heart stops. And while we’re here, why exactly are we here?

Most have resigned to the futility of the exercise: Of finding an answer to this question. Because it’s far easier to sit back and watch sitcoms, or worry about saving enough for that new dress (or car, or house, or island) than find a purpose in this brief (?) excursion of the soul on an intriguing chunk of matter revolving around another in an infinite universe. They have swallowed the blue pill – resigned to the belief that there is no way out of this chaos. (Except death maybe – that is when you’re willingly or unwillingly airlifted out of the puzzle. Whether you get out or are dropped right back in will be debated till the proverbial hell freezes over.) To blindfold themselves to the most uncomfortable question of all, they have constructed illusions of control over a self-determined universe. They have made homes in little corners of these confusing pathways. In these alternate realities, there are man-made entities- money, fame, countries, religions, race,.. –  of utmost importance to their existence. These illusions keep them going in what would otherwise be a maddening chase of one’s own tail. The survival strategy works, like swimming. When you stop fighting, you float. They are the happy ones. For they choose to float in the still waters of willful ignorance.

But some have seen through the walls. Some see through their own smoke screens and there is no unseeing the veil behind which a non-understood reality exists. They are the crazy ones – making music, playing with light and colors and media, wielding words, suggesting unprecedented ideas – trying to decipher and convey an illegible code.

They are the mad ones. Running around the maze like frenzied rats, hungry for answers. But they also anchor the rest of the delusional world to reality, to all that is important, to life and the beauty of it all. They suffer from a looping question every day and that is what drives their seemingly whimsical lives. They feel little even in the light of accomplishments, for they see the baffling scale of universe the others choose to avoid. They are the ones capable of changing the world, for they are the ones questioning it. They are the seekers and the sufferers. And at times, they seek comfort – to subdue the pain, to muffle the voices within momentarily – in love, art, addictions…

To these mad ones, I say: Keep running. Whoever you are, however crazy or vain this quest seems, don’t seek an easy way out. You might not know all the answers yet, but you’re asking all the important questions. Yes, it’s maddening- this pursuit. Would you have it any other way?

– An equally baffled Mazerunner