When an ailment like flu, fever, cold, cough--especially, when they're united--prostrates me, the imbalance of the four elements of my physical body distorts my normal way of seeing that’s itself my own projection, the way I want to see and color. Then, say, a major case like a recently fallen tooth, as of my own negligence, the injured eardrum of one of the ears bleeding like a boil lanced loose, and such are like my parts are being mutilated… Then what? Here, in a corner of the world, where human dignity is said as still reigning, and so the rule of law, laicity (thanks The Enlightenment movement for producing that many atheists, not agnostics and thinkers that's out of the question for every head of you, and the dilemma now posed by the mental sickness as depression to neurasthenia to what, and, for the worst case, to getting converted into another faith that's itself theistic, demanding just 'submission', axiomatic) but insecurity so predominantly. The bottom-line cause being of twofold: taking to the core one's own narrow way of looking at the world, self-centeredness is still taken as a source of true happiness but in reality the opposite. In such a social environment, so much after being a worldling to philistine to flunkey, say, in a supermarket where I work, where I've set myself loose but equipped with my moral ground: the philosophy propounded by Nagarjuna and training myself to relate every act of mine to what I see with this sublime ontological finding: Not there as we want to see, but there like in a dream that acts on oneself as one feels and thinks and believes as but just subjective in reality, namely self-colorations; not permanent, assuring, and out there in its own way out of the blue at all. In such a social environment, the learning center of mine, when I feel my parts are being mutilated, how I can maintain the same tendence, for I haven't achieved the complete realization of it yet? But it's much, much worth sticking to it and it pains a lot that's absolutely subjective, remember it!
Drudge, really a drudge,
A check-and-bill chase,
But for a reason sage,
A few others’ needy case.
Drudge, alas, a socializing means,
Looms over as a prankster mean.
My own condition colors those faces,
Those posing colorations, as nuisances.
Those faces of shoppers—
So innocent when they fume
Just on missing a bunch of herb perfumed.
And, now, they appear to be so close-up, those hoppers.
And their haste,
Like it's all for free,
Jostling and elbowing spree,
Like not a second to waste.
As I retune my ground,
I find my own head as a grand hall,
My own voice echoing around,
Like a humming drone, an elegiac call:
Look at
this sad world!
And its
pride of self-enslavement
In the
name of 5G, high tech.
Futuristically
insane, so their notion of freedom.
The true
wisp of it, freedom,
They
can't take for a second,
For they
are doomed as social beings,
Conviviality-oriented ones.
"Vous en avez plus?"
The polite phrase and the grin,
And the countenance like in a serious muse
But for basil in pot (basilic en pot), with a hope thin.
Count on her and her being somehow I can,
Like that sensible face out of the blue one day
Asking me like to a comrade in a mood wane,
"Est-ce que le patron est gentille?"
Really, on an angel you can stumble on for sure.
Really, to a sensible sageness you can inure.
Really, count on you can but only your self-command.
Really, never astray you ramble, if you meet your self-esteem demands.
