mistaken to be a weakness and never seen as endurance. But is endurance only for the gullible and weak? I often wonder,
sought as a resort from the jarring madness that words are.Exorbitant vacations in the most exotic of locations can not match up to the respite from the need of conversation or mindless talk to keep up with the social pressure of networking.But is solitude only for the introspecting? I often wonder.
the laboratory of a mad genius and the perfect stillness that is before the most revolutionary of experiments are stirred in thought and then expressed.But is isolation only for the madmen? I often wonder.
the offence of a lone wanderer when the world calls to join in its material revelry and then blazes at them the sounds synthesized by echo in the hollow spaces that resound in pluralism of the crowd.But is the wilderness only for the fakir? I often wonder.
the indifference of a cynic when misplaced activism is eating into its own purpose by meddling with the jammed up cogs of the structure and in turn destroying what is left of them or empowering them by oiling their churning to be crushed under the implications.But is reason only for a philosopher to ponder?I often wonder.
the medium I chose to express what I can not put in words, it is heavy, it is meaningful , it is a pause, a much needed one. My words can be undermined my silence never taken for granted. But is silence only for the shaken, the broken, the suppressed and the cowards.You will know of what I often wonder.
sought as a resort from the jarring madness that words are.Exorbitant vacations in the most exotic of locations can not match up to the respite from the need of conversation or mindless talk to keep up with the social pressure of networking.But is solitude only for the introspecting? I often wonder.
the laboratory of a mad genius and the perfect stillness that is before the most revolutionary of experiments are stirred in thought and then expressed.But is isolation only for the madmen? I often wonder.
the offence of a lone wanderer when the world calls to join in its material revelry and then blazes at them the sounds synthesized by echo in the hollow spaces that resound in pluralism of the crowd.But is the wilderness only for the fakir? I often wonder.
the indifference of a cynic when misplaced activism is eating into its own purpose by meddling with the jammed up cogs of the structure and in turn destroying what is left of them or empowering them by oiling their churning to be crushed under the implications.But is reason only for a philosopher to ponder?I often wonder.
the medium I chose to express what I can not put in words, it is heavy, it is meaningful , it is a pause, a much needed one. My words can be undermined my silence never taken for granted. But is silence only for the shaken, the broken, the suppressed and the cowards.You will know of what I often wonder.
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