Do I think the sky is crying over a damp city?
The slow progression of its streets today
makes a mockery of all the global technological
advancement. I could have died on the street
this morning, with a white car coming straight at me!
But I aver, I am not afraid, death cannot take my youth
I am a flame, even if honest people fall in the graves
of ephemerality. Do heroes dissipate in shortlived phases,
never even to be accounted for in your memorabilia? Can
cheating make you stellar, and honesty make you cellar?
You know, civilisation has its odd dispensations, but not
eternity, that weighs each undeserved ignominy and
does the deserving justice! I have a latitude of purpose,
not selfishness in motive. And purpose is not circumstantial,
nor encumbered by time! You can see the culprits desperately
cavorting among the wilderness of survival instinct and id.
The brave are willing to suffer, sacrifice and die in grace;
even though it can get overly tiring when the availability of justice
suffers deprivation and justice-seekers are lampooned into
defeat. There are more lies transfused in this compact
global village, than the truths in the entire Universe.
But of course, nobody is looking. God is not obfuscated,
even in what seem like his own errors! But, actually, who do you
all blame for everything? Where does each of you want to prove
your existence? God has nothing to prove in his patience and restraint?
Would that diminish his potency in your eyes? What is fait accompli?
