the promised land
is nature not bountiful. is the ripe fruit not sweet enough for our taste? why must we slave away in a box for three hundred days a year only to be able to enjoy the remaining few weeks spared to us? on whose dictate did this way of life become the normal? did not god bless this earth to us so that we could reap its boundless joys? then why must we be reduced to labourers for the majority of it, living in the grand delusion that it is the only way to live — by living most of your life like a machine. where are the flourishes of creativity to be nurtured that brought forth the age of enlightenment now that all students are forced to learn are outdated theories and skills that have no real, quantifiable value outside of the house of cards within which this system functions. is he not the richest man who can laze by the pond on a warm summer, basking in the warmth of the sun, eat fruits from the trees and create from the earth what he so desires to meet his needs? what does this man have? nothing. he would be the poorest man in the world. yet people work like dogs to achieve the least bit of what that man possesses. how hard can it be to look at it all and realise the sheer stupidity of it. how ridiculous it all is. how absurd the common life seems.
labouring for 16 hours a day, for your wife and children — only to barely see them — never to be able to spend time with them. for whom you shed blood, sweat and tears, your children, to not see them grow. what are you even working towards? what are you working for? must it be this way? where lies the thread to escape this daedalic maze that mocks us at every bend and turn? the promised land of eden that once belongs to us lies only a step away, yet the chasm that stretches between the vision of its existence and the surety of ones step stares back like an unfinished dream till your dying breath.