truth*
Posted by ronrage9 | Posted in | Posted on 2:09 AM
…beyond frames and portraits, the unfolding of the story of it undergoes “amendments” by the on lookers, like selling irony from the satchel of happiness for nickels. Sounds alarming, doesn’t it? But then, we hail from the same genre of wisdom, we are nothing but the henchmen cutting the strings of balloons held by a kid.
The unheard stories and dreams are never welcomed into the dark shadows of our hearts, the chasing of fairytales are rather conspicuous to the crystals in our eyes. Picture a fate being written on the hands of that kid, probably just into his teens, by the sandpapers and leather skins of our shoes? We adore the glitter and glisten of our nails and skin, the timely cup of coffee at home, the coloured pigments of that forty inch screen in living room, life is easy, after all the moolah has bought us the “remotecontrols”
(as it exists, on the other side of the staircase of the railway station)
the professional choices to wonder in their attic is not as fat as it is to us. The deaths by the tracks, the ‘thanedar’ searching for liberty sale on board, chapel wearing gentleman, helpful but as he himself puts it “constrained by the law” magistrate are nothing but some of the occupational hazards, and the occupations? Well hawking, shoe polishing, chai walas etc. the bread and butter are a royalty, so allying with some chillum would release the thrust of hunger, wouldn’t it?
This is the life beside the lines of metal - bricks and bones aren’t unparelled, the ocean is besieged. But we are not anchoring in this muddy water, its atrocious even to have a hunch to spoil the portals of our self inflicted heavens and rhapsodies. We wouldn’t . The fatal tales of numbers and masses, being captured in mere lenses and making more molaah out of it.
The brackets and pyramids are made, with perfections of god…
..when all the compartments are fetching the same destinations, only difference is the colour of the piece of paper you have.
A piteous affectation.
and woefulness of it is, we are still paying to garnish the addendums of our fairytales.
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