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The Deprivation of Significance

I find myself pondering at the crux of civilization. I reflect with a very vague sense of perception. I sit at a precariously positioned desk typing words fervently that paint pictures that lie embedded in my mind. These pictures do not conform to any particular shape or form. In fact, they can hardly be called pictures. Pictures are more vivid, brimming with life and a factual representation of life as we know it. In a picture, you capture moments that are frozen for generations. It is a moment, that if not captured would forever escape and be lost in the annals of all the moments that define us. Each picture when looked back upon elucidates the definition of our history. So, yes I am not painting a picture.

I am purging myself of the thoughts and the vague forms that flash inside my head. These flashes are like dim lights, in a miserable lounge, masking the faces of all the patrons in an attempt to cloak their emotions. The face is the most reflective mirror of all and it becomes a goblet brimming with our inner self, overflowing with our secrets and our deepest thoughts. My deepest thoughts overflow from this goblet and drip callously onto the floor emanating whiffs of an acidic silence. The aroma captivates me, drowns me and yet in a strange manner, liberates me.

Often, I find myself caught reflecting upon the giant wheels that turn moving this great civilization forward. Countless stories spin around in this giant vortex of information, casting visions of the world as it being shaped. I read them and I find myself greatly troubled. There seems to be an unearthed sense of ailment that has affected everyone in the world. There is much discontent at the decisions that the pallbearers of this world are taking. There are lives lost over reasons that are difficult to comprehend. Anarchy is being touted as patriotism. Narrow divisions amongst ourselves are being widened like a gash carved on the face of an innocent child. I sense that the world is headed for divisions. There is a fragmented partition of those who demand action from greater powers and the others who do not want the powers to control their lives. This is not an issue that is domestic to any particular country, but stands true for all of mankind. We are victim of crimes that we commit. We kill and are being killed. We try to bridge divisions but are also confining ourselves into narrower walls. We exist and still are forgotten. We have deprived ourselves from the basic tenets that ameliorate us.

Anger wells in the streets in a foreign land. There are scores that are killed in riots. Our lives continue without even a momentary reflection on our fellow species. We concern ourselves more with the superficial clothing of a commercial pageant winner. We theorize over her ethnic group, her lineage and her religion. Some among us proclaim it as a victory and a statement supporting the plaques of diversity and there are some amongst us who lament the rise of political correctness and suffice it with conspiracy theories. Political Correctness? You reduce your existence to a reflective output feeding off the flourishing designs of the fourth estate and claim to be of significance. Do we not realize that what matters to our existence are not such trivial pursuits but awakening from this trance. We do not, we do not even try.

The visions in my head are now fading away slowly. My brief anger slowly subsides and is now drowned in the clear waters of fatigue. I sit morosely, realizing that I too belong to those who were deprived. The only difference is that I am struggling to free myself from these powerful clutches. My ramblings may not be extremely reflective but are still relevant to my disposition. They stand testimony to my fervent attempts at sensing a larger role for me. Whether I ever achieve that role is but to be awaited.

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