Yes, you have got the correct information about the
cosmopolitan. He went back to the well. He was fully aware of what could befall
on him if he was reborn. Yet he took birth. Growing up to be a cosmopolitan was
not much of a task as was enduring the same. Urban life was filled to the brim with restlessness,
volatility of emotion and spectrum of crimes took suck a wild, colorful form
that he often wondered in his leisure as to what bequeathed him on earth than
his city. Solemnly in the fearful depths of his mind, where even he himself
dared not to frequent, he knew his city was saturated with aimlessness, fatigue
of a different kind. He felt it while staring acidly in a metro, or in front of
the swanky skyscrapers that seemed to
literally sprout from thin air, or in the filth of the fishmongers arena…
always, always that sense of despair was intricate in the air. One day, after
his visit to the local brothel, which he often did, he read Duncan and wondered
what to do with the days he was left with before he was again summoned by the
gods. “By Zeus”, he thought, “I don’t want to go back to the heaven. Boy have I
loved my city very dearly in the short stay here”.
In this way, even by knowing the loci of major pitfalls, he
fell into one in life.
“He was engulfed by his city, wasn't he? “, one of my
friends asked after hearing the news of his suicide on one fine autumn morning.
Another ensured, “you sure it isn't a
murder? They keep dying these days on casino flings at Northern Square, you
know……Police? Hah ha...” a sarcastic smile escaped his lips like he was playing
the part of Joker in a Batman Piece. “…they are as numb as a mole, a mole..” he
trailed off. He was drunk probably and so was the cosmopolitan. Although forensics
confirmed sleeping pills in his entrails, his castrated parts, lay besides his
carcass in his flat at 36 Northern Square, as if they underlined his fate, and
laughed a hearty laugh at it. Now who would be so frustrated with ones
masculinity that he would suicide by castration, especially who had fairly high
regards at The Central Brothel?
The only loss, I thought he suffered, was to be denied the celestial beauty of the cosmopolis at autumn, under the fine rays of a dying sun.
The only loss, I thought he suffered, was to be denied the celestial beauty of the cosmopolis at autumn, under the fine rays of a dying sun.
thats powerful mate -- and thankfully u do not hide behind petty symbolism
ReplyDeleteI'll quote a poem by Ezekiel.
ReplyDelete"The hills are always far away.
He knows the broken roads, and moves
In circles tracked within his head.
Before he wakes and has his say,
The river which he claims he loves
Is dry, and all the winds lie dead.
At dawn he never sees the skies
Which, silently, are born again.
Nor feels the shadows of the night
Recline their fingers on his eyes.
He welcomes neither sun nor rain.
His landscape has no depth or height.
The city like a passion burns.
He dreams of morning walks, alone,
And floating on a wave of sand.
But still his mind its traffic turns
Away from beach and tree and stone
To kindred clamour close at hand."