I thought I will never write a line again
I never thought I will
Isn’t there a phase in everybody’s lives where one stops completely and seeks no more
Isn’t there a phase in everybody’s lives where they stop looking back and even forth
I’m not trying to write a poem
Oh I am not
So don’t mind me, it is just scrap.
That day when I was flying over god knows what the state was, maybe UP,
I saw a meandering river
Pushed by the burden and volume of water, it bent over and curved continuously as an old living body
Ultimately it pushed itself out, to form a singular ox-bow lake
Moral of the story is that, (and i have been getting a lot of moral of the stories for quite some time now, the tortoise and hare trilogy)
I am not a river, I’m human. Hence even if I am pushed with burden and what not
I will withstand the motion and not keel over
The strength to stop me from doing so will take away all I possess
But I will not keel over
That is the irony of fate.
And he says I will laugh at his back and forget him.
And he says he will fight fate
He will fight whatever comes to walk against the tide
To sword it in its face and tell it to go to hell
I say, even if you think you will do the opposite
It is written from before
Even that is pre destined.
I historian, not the material scientist, tend to believe in destiny. Alexander believed in chance.
Not me.
I don’t see any of that with my myopic vision
Bullshit.
