A mere moment in time,
Captured in a tiny bubble of memory-
A still-shot of a souls turmoil,
After all the self-inflicted restrictions,
Ready to burst, devoid of the eyes,
Of all the watching eyes.
- July,2009
It's either just me or the world is going absolutely mad!
It might be something as insignificant as my blog not allowing me to reply to someone's comments[It really is the case. Everyone who has been kind enough to comment, I'm grateful and will reply once the random moments of luck touch me again], or something as big as my bus tumbling over to the side. Obviously my world is terribly small. Sometimes I wonder why we fret so much, pace around, scream out in anguish or hold it all in and suffer. William Shakespeare might be over-quoted but yet, he gets to the essence of it in his play Macbeth -
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth's speech and the morbid emotion in his bleakest moments strike us lesser mortals at times. When it does though, we wish to escape; we wish we could announce to the whole world that their attempts are fruitless and their problems all silly. We feel like we know all there is, to know. What right do we have to judge someone else's emotions and troubles. Take Holden Caulfield, the protagonist of "The catcher in the Rye" by J.D Salinger, and his belief that the world was full of phonies, and he saw naught but sorrow in his own future. Even in such an extreme pessimist, the feeling does not last. All we need is a small motif from our own past or some such that strikes a deep chord within us. It can be a four month old baby holding onto your little finger, or a ride on the Ferris wheel with a never-ending supply of cotton candy. Or maybe a foot massage for some of the mad people.
Maybe its just me having a strange complex- but i still find pretty much all arguments pointless, even mine when I think clearly. Its such a sheer waste of time!
Captured in a tiny bubble of memory-
A still-shot of a souls turmoil,
After all the self-inflicted restrictions,
Ready to burst, devoid of the eyes,
Of all the watching eyes.
- July,2009
It's either just me or the world is going absolutely mad!
It might be something as insignificant as my blog not allowing me to reply to someone's comments[It really is the case. Everyone who has been kind enough to comment, I'm grateful and will reply once the random moments of luck touch me again], or something as big as my bus tumbling over to the side. Obviously my world is terribly small. Sometimes I wonder why we fret so much, pace around, scream out in anguish or hold it all in and suffer. William Shakespeare might be over-quoted but yet, he gets to the essence of it in his play Macbeth -
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth's speech and the morbid emotion in his bleakest moments strike us lesser mortals at times. When it does though, we wish to escape; we wish we could announce to the whole world that their attempts are fruitless and their problems all silly. We feel like we know all there is, to know. What right do we have to judge someone else's emotions and troubles. Take Holden Caulfield, the protagonist of "The catcher in the Rye" by J.D Salinger, and his belief that the world was full of phonies, and he saw naught but sorrow in his own future. Even in such an extreme pessimist, the feeling does not last. All we need is a small motif from our own past or some such that strikes a deep chord within us. It can be a four month old baby holding onto your little finger, or a ride on the Ferris wheel with a never-ending supply of cotton candy. Or maybe a foot massage for some of the mad people.
Maybe its just me having a strange complex- but i still find pretty much all arguments pointless, even mine when I think clearly. Its such a sheer waste of time!
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