Reflected back to you..
We are all tiny specks, floating away in the world of flaw. The question we revolt from the unknown seeks approval for our subtle upliftment. But does the question really knocks on the door of infinite possibility? Does it strike a chord on the melody of divine harmony? Does it travel to distances unfathomable, does it reach to the center of spiking hypernovae or does it get to surrender to the feet of the prime?
While we launch our pods of desire, we crave for an answer all our lives; the roads we cross, the small lunch-conversations we spark, the endless push of our thumb against the screen in the loo and ironically the shelter we take under the monument of peace, the question is constantly being processed under our slabs of consciousness, as always sitting in a corner, praying just to be heard.
But what if those enchantments never even see the light of day? What if all the sacred was just a humongous cloud of placebo engulfing our little worlds under the boulder of delusional salvation?
The kind of push that would set off a violent reaction. The shock of disbelief capable of dismissing the foundational roots of devotion. Consequently disfiguring the towers of civilisation. All suffer, the remarkable journey of an amoeba to form the highly differentiated, evolution detracks, its only the ticking that remains.
Far away from the andromeda, residing in a lushful yet choking ball of stone, rotating in a beautiful ellipse under the influence of a dying star lie we, tiny meaningless specks of dust, floating away in the world of flaw, floating away to oblivion.
While we launch our pods of desire, we crave for an answer all our lives; the roads we cross, the small lunch-conversations we spark, the endless push of our thumb against the screen in the loo and ironically the shelter we take under the monument of peace, the question is constantly being processed under our slabs of consciousness, as always sitting in a corner, praying just to be heard.
But what if those enchantments never even see the light of day? What if all the sacred was just a humongous cloud of placebo engulfing our little worlds under the boulder of delusional salvation?
The kind of push that would set off a violent reaction. The shock of disbelief capable of dismissing the foundational roots of devotion. Consequently disfiguring the towers of civilisation. All suffer, the remarkable journey of an amoeba to form the highly differentiated, evolution detracks, its only the ticking that remains.
Far away from the andromeda, residing in a lushful yet choking ball of stone, rotating in a beautiful ellipse under the influence of a dying star lie we, tiny meaningless specks of dust, floating away in the world of flaw, floating away to oblivion.
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