Hopelessly Practical World

The world where we live in is hopelessly practical. Mostly distraught. There is hardly any space for poetic pause and contemplation. Oh my GOD !!!!

I and WE hardly have the romantic space for recapturing solitude. The collage of our day to day life is just the rush for meeting the days end. Stretching my horizons of imagination I try and try not to succumb to the travails of the mundane. We appreciate poetry and aesthetics just to transcend the dull and sullen forces ozzing from our day to day struggle.

Money craving is a fashion today. You may not have a silken soul , but you ought to possess a spacious apartment. You may not have compassion for the proletariate but you are supposed to drave a car.

I am an outright impractical , hopelessly incorrigible fellow with a non-chalance to the proven order of accepted pathways of livelihood. I muse at the marvel of the multicolured falling leaves that stud the landspace of Noth america in the fall season. I stare at the flaping of the wings of the white swan from amidst the opulent lake. I love to see the cuckoo's nest. I reverberate the sound of the nightingle. I love fiddling with the blades of grass. The dew drop glittering like an effulgent emerald makes my day a happy charm. I literally wrestle and fight against all these tender forces to puff in the race for daily life.



The World that I behold , is the world of my own. May be some happy mongering fellows do get into my fold of ideas. The din , bustle of the overtly fast life is a pain of its own. What is life if full of flair , with us having no time to stand and stare !!