What Gnaws Within: The Gentle Agonies We Bear

What Gnaws Within: The Gentle Agonies We Bear

There is a peculiar stillness that follows the noise of the day, and in that hush, certain thoughts return — uninvited, unrelenting, and unresolved. Though the world marches ahead with confident strides and digital distractions, there remain quiet agonies that stir the soul. What bothers me is rarely thunderous. Rather, it is the feather-touch of sorrow, the whisper of injustice, and the sigh of forgotten values that unsettle me the most.

The Ache of Superficiality

We are living in a world swimming in shallow waters. The sparkle of surfaces has overtaken the strength of depth. In our hurried hellos and pre-packaged smiles, true connection drowns. Authentic conversations are now rare birds, seen fleetingly and admired distantly. That we have so many tools to communicate, and yet feel so unheard, bothers me. The heart seeks resonance, not reaction.

Philosophically, the Upanishads remind us — “Tat Tvam Asi” — Thou art that — an echo of oneness, of deeper understanding between beings. But that divine kinship often seems forgotten in our time, as we trade human warmth for algorithmic approval.

The Slow Erosion of Wonder

What deeply troubles me is the gradual death of awe. Children once marvelled at fireflies, elders pondered stars. But today, curiosity has been traded for content, and silence for scrolling. We are forgetting how to wonder — how to pause, how to gaze up at a night sky and ask, “Why?” In losing wonder, we lose worship — not of any dogma — but of life itself.

When Descartes said “Cogito, ergo sum” (I think, therefore I am), he invoked the sacred act of questioning. Yet today, questions are feared. They are inconvenient. We prize certainty over curiosity, outcome over journey, and utility over poetry.

The Injustice That Feels Normal

It weighs heavy on my spirit that so many suffer silently. Inequality has become a backdrop rather than a scandal. A child begging outside a glittering mall; a labourer toiling without dignity; a teacher paid in pittances while entertainers soar in wealth — these contrasts jar my sense of justice. The moral compass of society seems to have been calibrated to convenience, not conscience.

Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “The lust for comfort murders the passions of the soul.” And indeed, it bothers me that comfort has bred a subtle form of cruelty — indifference.

The Noise That Never Sleeps

The modern world never rests. There is always something buzzing — phones, headlines, updates, alerts. We are constantly being informed, but seldom transformed. The stillness required for contemplation is now a luxury. What bothers me is not noise itself, but what it drowns — the delicate voice of the soul. The Psalms speak of God as “the still small voice” — and if one cannot find stillness, one risks never hearing the divine.

The Disregard for the Elderly and the Forgotten

I am deeply troubled by how society treats its elders. Wisdom has been replaced by trendiness. Experience has been shoved aside for novelty. There is a quiet grief in those eyes that once shone with guidance — now often dismissed, unheard, or labelled obsolete. We speak of inclusion but rarely extend it to those who no longer hold economic or social currency.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna speaks of detachment, not of discarding. But we have turned away from those who nurtured us — and in doing so, have detached from our roots.

A Gentle Lament in Verse

What bothers me is not the storm,
But silence after the truth is torn,
When hearts retreat and souls resign,
To live by the clock and not by the spine.

What gnaws within is not the loud,
But joyless faces in a crowd,
A child unfed, a dream dismissed,
A truth betrayed, a moment missed.

O let the winds of wisdom blow,
Where seeds of depth and kindness grow,
And may we, in our hurried way,
Still find the grace to kneel and pray.

For though the world may never pause,
Let us not forget the cause —
To feel, to love, to lift, to see,
The sacred in both you and me.

In truth, what bothers me is not only the brokenness of the world — but the way we begin to accept it as normal. Yet, perhaps in naming it, feeling it, and speaking it aloud, we resist its hold. For sometimes, the quiet courage to be bothered is the first act of healing.

— Written in contemplation, with the dust of philosophy and the dew of the heart!