The fucking problem with me is that I think I am a really great person. I think I am the saviour; that I am here to make a difference in the lives of all those around me. I am here to live the lives of a hundred men, when all I do is stare at screen coated with phosphoric material which illuminate when an electron hits it.
I think, I am here to save a whole bunch of pathetic losers from themselves, from their low self-esteem; from their total lack of a broader view of things; I want to save them from throwing shit on to their neighbours houses; not knowing that shit bounces back. With a sight so short they can not see if they are running into a wall or onto a highway, a perception so feeble that they can not judge if they are hitting the accelerator or the brake.
A whole civilization that has started rotting, that has metamorphosed in to a pig while the water pool around it turned from a flowing mountian creek to a stagnant puddle of city sewer. In semblences of progress, it takes solace; ever insecure; comparing it self with civilizations it's borrowing so much crap from these days.
May be its just me.
Well may be I am fucking good.
May be I know too much about great civilizations.
May be I am just a person who can not let the past go, but at the same time knows what it takes to be there in the future.
May be I am too sharp, but at the same time too weak.
May be I am too strong, but at the same time too artless.
Any way, why should I care?
Why can not I just sit back, indulge in some materialistic pleasures?
Or am I just past that spiritual point where I am too smart to convince myself that materialistic pleasures are everything?
I am the sum integral of aeons of this civilization. Of sages that sat on mountain tops, of housewives who never asked questions, of hosts who let themselves starve for their guests sake, of farmers who passionately loved the land, of loyal warriors, of loyal servants, of devotees of Durga, of Rama, of the Ganga Dippers, of the wandering monks, of the poets, of the kings who encouraged them, of mountains that talked, of eternal bachelors, of grihasthas, of the drama artists, of the folk singers, .... of idealists, of beautiful lives in a pure country.
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1 comment:
Yes, the burden of bearing this cross of responsibility and awareness is indeed too heavy for words.
But hey, what are so many metaphors and all this hyperbole doing in a post by a guy who professes to detest them?
And one thing - you may be a great man or you may be not, but you are indeed fit to be atleast a director of a small division in my company. In my company, the higher a person ascends in the heirarchy, the more he uses the F-word.
Btw, the last stanza is good, but like I said the style is more to my taste than yours.
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