How could my presence here, now with these folks be justified?
How could my deeds be explained? What are these foolish words coming out of my mouth?
'Tis not supposed to be me, is it?
Whose image is that on the pier glass? Is it mine?
Who am I before all else?
Who art thou young man?
Art thou me or barely a mere physical recipient?
For how long are we destined to be tied by our bondage?
Pointless poetry for this serious matter.
Indeed, in some situations, a weird idea, as questioning my own thoughts, may just jump into my head for few seconds and go away before I even have grasp of it.
As long as I remember, such thoughts do not seem to be persistent. I just forget about the idea the next minute right away.
I bet that, otherwise, it would have been the most perfect sense of self-criticism. Self-criticism.. who cares about such thing?! In my opinion, seeking answers to all these questions is none but an obsolete luxury for dead people.
0 comments:
Post a Comment