Philosophy of words

One of the many fascinating things in this world is the incapability of humans to define the very concept of words themselves and understand their depth in their entirety. I mean, what are words anyway? A vain though almost triumphant attempt to somehow visualize or articulate our thoughts, to make sense out of our strangest ideas and perceptions, to rid ourselves of those very ideas in the hopes of maybe finding someone who might understand or relate? But why are words given this unshakable power of affecting us or our relations with others, for that matter, so deeply? Maybe because the very essence of feeling lies in words themselves. There is a word for almost every feeling. Being probably the second oldest inherited belongings from our ancestors, first being this planet and the universe, and having traveled all this way to reach us here in a form unaltered, preserved with the same essence and depth as they once possessed, or perhaps even more depth, because of the history they carry and the different times through which they have been through, words have produced a way for us to express what we feel inside the most hidden parts of our beings, if not physically but, through language. Feelings would have been a mere self made concept, if they had not been given the ability to be expressed through words. Even if you try, you cannot escape from the clarity, vividness or cruelty words possess. There’s a subtle magic in them; the way they seem to give form to things, otherwise formless, and introduce their own kind of sweet music to existence, which is otherwise dull and melancholic.

Paradoxically, words can be like both: soft petals of an orchid on a warm April afternoon, falling on our bodies as if to replicate the feeling of heaven for that mere second, only to leave behind a sensation that we may carry till our last breath or they could be like cold rusty swords slashing against eachother, slashing through our skin, slashing through our interiors, leaving timeless, bloody scars behind. The point is, that’s how powerful they can be.

Who thought something as simple as words would have enough power to bring us to the point of exhaustion? the simple attempt to understand them has itself left me worn out. But even then, there are times when words fill you up so much to the extent of fulfillment, almost contentment at its utmost, more often than not, suffocated as well, but there are times when they shred your very being, leaving you weary with the feeling like you have been left with nothing at all. They, in a way, leave you full even by robbing you empty and I think that’s the rarest thing to experience in this world.