Society

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“We have a greed with which we have agreed.”

 

Because what we see on bright and sunny days in the summers of July, as corneas reach out for infinity, hands reach out for the sun, people reach out for success, and society reaches out for progress, is but a facade; for the chests that bear the suits and ties do not possess flesh. Instead, they are mannequins made of wax – sans soul, sans life. And as the wind breaks the leaves free from the trees, rib cages don’t cage souls. For what you see at 11 am at Times Square is but a facade; souls were always meant to break free, and will never be found in mannequins of wax.

 

For our souls became afraid of us the day we became Society.

 

Look at the wild wild west, and wonder where the renegades of ancient times went, and I bet you’ll find the answers trapped somewhere in small cubicles of the finance departments of symmetrically jumbled cemented mazes. Wonder where the savvy hounds of pleasure disappeared, and I bet you’ll find the answers locked away in empty spaces, away from capitalistic dances of death, petrified to confront. Their latency sought abode in the somber corners of disfigured ruins. Those who escaped made homes in unchartered latitudes of the flamboyant wild.

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For our souls became afraid of us the day we became Society.

 

My old man once told me, “We are but chaotic mass without our souls,” and soon I realised that we are chaotic mass now. We created XTC(Drug) to replace ecstasy, hid the stars with mammoth buildings, and begged heartless deities to cure our apathy. We pray every night, to one of the millions of Gods to bring back our souls, and sleep with the greatest fear of never getting them back. We repent the destruction we caused, yet look at this very society hoping to find them in ideal physiques, auctioned morals, and stratagems of bloodshed.

 

Instead, look around at 6 in the morning as the wind kisses wrinkled barks and bent branches of humble trees. Look at a broken heart’s desires, and the purity of its love, existing without remorse. Look at the ramblings of an outcast, as his mind wanders beyond the conventional limits of social norms. This is where you find souls; in the deceit-less smiles in zilch bucks, the magic bus, the padded huts.

 

We sold our souls long ago. They call the buyer Satan, I call it Society.
(Inspired by – Society by Eddie Vedder)

 

 


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